


We Can Burn Brighter

by ingberry



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angsty Schmoop, Fluff, Internalized Homophobia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-17
Updated: 2012-05-17
Packaged: 2017-11-05 13:01:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 35,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/406643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ingberry/pseuds/ingberry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Arthur agrees to meet Gwen's new boyfriend Lance and his group of friends he never expected it to include Merlin. It's been nine years since they broke up, but the memories are still raw. Pretending that they don't know each other seems like the best idea, until it's not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Can Burn Brighter

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this lovely prompt](http://kinkme-merlin.livejournal.com/30557.html?thread=29495133#t29495133) at the kink meme. Thanks to everyone who left comments there along the way! <3
> 
> Thank you so much to my beta, [Summer](http://singlemomsummer.livejournal.com/), for all your input!

Arthur had never seen so much swooning in his entire life as the day Gwen told them the story about how Lancelot saved her from being flattened by an oncoming bus. Elena and Sophia had almost swooned themselves out of their chairs by the time Gwen was done telling the story (three times by Arthur’s count) and the worst of all of them was Leon who is a ridiculous romantic and never really bothers to hide it. In hindsight, Arthur should have realised something was in the works by the way Gwen’s entire face was glowing as she told them about it. At the time, he’d attributed it to the fact that she had avoided being run down and killed, but he supposes it was probably a healthy mix of still being alive and being saved by Lancelot.

Now Arthur is being dragged to meet Lancelot, who is more than likely a sanctimonious dork who hangs around on street corners waiting for people to save. He’d put up a good fight to get out of it, but it’s common knowledge that if Morgana has decided you should do something, you will either do it or hear about it for the rest of your sorry life. Arthur figures one night of meeting Lancelot is better than being reminded of how selfish he is every day for the foreseeable future. 

“Smile,” Morgana says as they stand outside the door to Gwen’s flat. “I won’t have your sour jealousy ruining Gwen’s night.”

Arthur stares at her. “My what?”

“Your jealousy.”

“You’re going to have to elaborate.”

“Well, clearly you want a dashing knight in shining armour to leap into your own dull life, but surely you can be happy for Gwen.”

Just as the door swings open, Arthur breaks his stunned silence. “You’re out of your sodding mind.”

Morgana just gives him an impish smile before she launches forwards and wraps Gwen into a hug. “Now, where’s the man who saved my best friend’s life?”

Gwen laughs, her cheeks flushed and her eyes shining so brightly that Arthur almost feels happy for her. Almost. Okay fine, he’s happy for her. 

“Lancelot,” Gwen says, turning to take the hand of a tall, handsome man behind her. “This is my best friend Morgana and her brother Arthur. We all work together as well. I told you that, right?”

Lancelot’s face splits into a beaming smile as Morgana envelops him in a hug and Arthur feels his stomach drop just a little bit. He hadn’t been jealous, but he sure as hell is now, considering Lancelot has a face that seems sculpted with the greatest care and is clearly astonishingly hot. Fuck everything. 

Arthur manages a smile when Lancelot grabs his hand and he tries to not hold on inappropriately long, inwardly cursing Gwen for getting there before him. Granted, Arthur is technically dating Cenred these days, but that’s hardly serious. It’s casual in a really depressing, really passionless way.

“Some of the others are here already,” Gwen says, leading them inside after they’d put their coats up. “But we’re still waiting on Leon and Elena.”

He’s always liked Gwen’s flat. It’s spacious, but homely and warm and lived in, which is a bit of an opposite to his own. That’s probably why they always hang out at Gwen’s rather than at his place, even if his is bigger. They can’t hang out at Morgana’s, because her flat mate Morgause scares the living fuck out of everyone, and Leon can’t keep a tidy living space if his life depended on it. Arthur briefly wonders if their hang out means that he will have to see Lancelot all the time now, which seems a bit unbearable if he’s honest about it. Mainly because he will have to keep from jumping his bones every time they meet. Arthur scowls petulantly and only forces a smile when Morgana elbows him in the ribs. 

“This is Gwaine,” he hears Gwen say, and he glances over to the dark-haired man she points to. “This here is Merlin and this is Freya.”

Is there an earthquake in London? Surely that never happens, does it? But the ground seems to be moving and rising up to punch Arthur in the gut repeatedly. He tells his heart to stop breaking his ribs, because surely there’s more than one mother who is insane enough to name their kid Merlin. He’ll go to church again, he really will, if only there is more than one Merlin in the world. Heck, he’ll even stop moaning about his father (which everyone knows is the ultimate sacrifice) if only he’s not about to come face to face with Merlin in a room full of people watching them. 

“Mate, you look dreadful,” this Gwaine person says as they shake hands. “Did someone key your Jaguar or something?”

“Gwaine,” Freya says in warning, scowling at him. “Could you not be yourself for a few hours? This is about Lance, remember?”

Arthur wants to thank her, but he can’t due to the fact that his mouth is so dry that it seems stuck. He hasn’t been able to look at the person between Gwaine and Freya, but as his hand is released from Freya’s surprisingly firm grip, he holds it out towards the person in the middle and lifts his eyes up from his hands. Oh God. 

It is Merlin. He’s nine years older and he’s definitely no longer eighteen, but it’s undoubtedly Merlin with his ridiculous ears that he apparently never grew into and the cheekbones that create the most fascinating angles Arthur has ever seen on anyone’s face. He’s still lanky, full of limbs and pointy ends, and that warms Arthur in a way that it really fucking should not. Morgana is next to him, shaking hands with Gwaine and he feels people’s eyes on him as he remains rooted to the floor. 

“He’s not usually this quiet,” Morgana says lightly. “Though you’re probably better off, cause he’s a bit of a prat when he opens his mouth.”

Something in the back of his head says that he should probably let Merlin’s hand go, but Merlin isn’t moving either. Their eyes are locked together and Merlin’s lips are parted in what Arthur assumes is surprise. Fuck. If only Arthur can get his wits back and stop thinking about abandoned locker rooms and the guest house in the garden of the Pendragon estate. 

“He usually doesn’t molest people’s hands either,” Morgana says pointedly, turning her head towards Arthur and whispers, “Arthur, dear, gawking isn’t polite.”

He bloody well can’t stop gawking, which is thoroughly embarrassing. And now he starts to wonder what he’s going to do. Is he supposed to draw Merlin into a hug and exclaim how great it is to see him again after all these years? That seems like a horrible idea considering the terms they parted on. The last things he remembers of Merlin are shouts and tears and the slam of a door, after all, and he doesn’t think going straight for a hug is appropriate, even if it is nine years later. 

Thankfully, Merlin takes the decision before Arthur does. 

“Nice to meet you,” Merlin all but croaks, but even that small, broken sentence makes Arthur’s heart pump uncomfortably. Merlin’s voice. Fuck. “Arthur, was it?”

Arthur coughs. “Yeah, Arthur. Good to meet you, Merlin.”

There’s an extremely awkward silence between the five of them that Morgana tries to fill with idle chatter about the weather and busses that try to kill people, but the tension can still be cut with a butter knife. Arthur squirms under the heavy glances that the two of them are getting, because they’ve hardly been subtle about their surprise. Morgana is eyeing him oddly, but she doesn’t seem to recognise Merlin, which isn’t much of a surprise considering Merlin has always been a very well kept secret, and maybe it’s better that way. Maybe he should just tell all of them that they already know each other, but then they would ask questions and Arthur is not bloody ready for questions. He’s barely ready for talking at all. 

Lancelot swoops in at that moment, all disarming smiles and gentle eyes as he wraps an arm around Merlin’s shoulder. “It’s about time all of you met, I’ve heard so much about Gwen’s friends and I’ve been talking her head in about these guys.”

Any hope that Merlin might just be a distant acquaintance that someone brought along on a random whim slips through Arthur’s fingers as Lancelot launches into a long story about how he and Merlin became best mates six years ago. Arthur wonders what Merlin has been doing since they parted ways. It’s strange to consider that it’s been nearly a decade. He wonders how Merlin has changed and he wonders what he’s doing with his life now. Arthur knows he’s changed himself, but he isn’t sure how Merlin will feel about that. Maybe he’ll be proud, maybe he’ll pity him or maybe he’ll be bitter. The room starts to feel suffocating as every thought he’s had about Merlin in the past nine years seem to crowd in on him.

“Sorry, I need to skip off to the bathroom,” he says, feeling silly as everyone’s eyes go to him. “Too much coffee at work today.”

As Arthur closes the door behind him, he thinks that’s probably what the kids these days call TMI and he feels like an idiot. He places his hands on the sink and leans forward, taking several deep breaths. It isn’t that he hasn’t thought about meeting Merlin again, it’s just that he’d foolishly thought they would be alone and that the words would come readily to Arthur. He would tell Merlin how far he had come and how fucked up his life had been back then – how fucked up _he_ had been back then. But he can’t very well say that in front of everyone and now they have to keep up the pretence of just having met. 

He splashes cold water on his face, cooling his blushing cheeks and stands completely still for a moment, trying to find that inner calm somewhere inside that’ll let him go out there without making such a blithering fool of himself. He can do this, even if it is Merlin. All he has to do is get through the day without more embarrassing gawking and it’ll all work out somehow. If it comes down to it, he’ll break up Lancelot and Gwen. He’s a mastermind of cunning, after all.

***

They all get along fairly well, all things considered. Gwaine is an arsehole, but an entertaining one. Freya is soft-spoken, but strong-willed and good-natured. Lancelot is good in that way Arthur didn’t think people could be anymore. His initial attraction has subsided quite a bit, though, as Lancelot is simply too much of an open book to catch Arthur’s interest. He’s more than happy to let Gwen have him for herself.

And Merlin. Yeah, there’s Merlin. During that first dinner, they had avoided each other’s gaze as much as possible and never really directly addressed each other in conversation. Arthur had tried to cover that up by talking to Freya so much that his friends probably thought he’d gone temporarily straight. It’s getting harder to not interact with Merlin, however, as their separate groups suddenly seem to weave seamlessly together. Both Gwen and Morgana dote on Merlin, and Morgana and Gwaine have forged a frighteningly tight bond over the course of only a few weeks. It’s getting painfully obvious that Merlin is back in Arthur’s life for good if he wants to stay in this group of friends. And he very much wants that, because no one else really likes him, if he’s honest about it. 

Maybe it’s like ripping off a plaster Arthur tells himself optimistically when Merlin ends up sitting next to him during one of their traditional film nights. He’d felt a feeling of impending doom when he realised Gwen had taken one of the chairs with Lancelot sitting cross-legged on the floor, leaning back against her, and Morgana and Gwaine had huddled in the other end of the sofa. Before Arthur could change to the other available chair, Freya had grabbed it and Leon had settled on the footrest, leaving the only open space next to Arthur. Merlin, bless him, had tried to find a seat on the floor but Morgana had told him to stop being such a selfless git and take the open spot on the sofa already. 

It’s nothing like ripping of a plaster, not really. Instead it’s much like being boiled from the inside out in a pot of molten lead. Probably. Arthur doesn’t have any particular experiences with molten lead, but he can imagine it. He tries to make himself small in his corner of the sofa to avoid pressing his thigh against Merlin’s, but it doesn’t change the fact that Merlin’s face is just _there_ in his field of vision and that Merlin’s laugh is impossible to ignore when it’s so close. 

Sometimes Arthur wonders if they’re both being a bit childish about this. They’re both twenty-seven, after all, but then again it feels like being eighteen all over again when he has to lean over to accept the glass of pop Morgana holds out to him and he gets so close that he can smell Merlin’s shampoo. It doesn’t help that the inevitable thigh-brush happens when Arthur gets a text and has to dig into his pocket. It makes him blush like a stupid teenager with a stupid teenage crush, at which Morgana cackles gleefully as she apparently misunderstands the reason for his reaction.

“Aw, is Cenred sexting you again?” she says, grinning cheekily in his direction. 

Arthur can’t help but throw a fleeting look in Merlin’s direction. If Merlin reacts to the casual way Morgana brings up Cenred, he doesn’t show it. “Are you ever letting that go?” He pockets his phone without answering the text. 

“Letting it go?” Leon asks incredulously. “Mate, you’re delusional. Morgana hasn’t had that much ammunition on you since that time she walked in on you in your bed –“

“Yeah, thanks!” Arthur cries, frantically looking for a way to get himself out of this utterly terrifying conversation. “No one wants to hear about this.”

Gwaine looks up from the bowl of crisps he’s been buried in. “Oh, mate. Everyone wants to hear absolutely _everything_ about this.”

Arthur’s cheeks burn as everyone laughs and nods eagerly. He glares at them all (except Merlin, who he can’t bring himself to look at) as they encourage Morgana to tell them the dirty details about this sexting and bed business. 

Morgana waves her hand in Arthur’s direction. “Stop being such a prude, Arthur. You’d think you were a blushing virgin.”

“He’s definitely blushing,” Leon says, smirking. “But the virgin bit is long lost.”

Well, that’s a bit awkward. He really doesn’t want his virginity to be a topic of discussion, considering Merlin is the one he’d lost it to. 

“It was a dark and stormy night.” Morgana seems to enjoy the attention way too much. “I was borrowing Arthur’s phone to make a call when his boything Cenred started sexting him all these obscene things. I never let him live it down, of course. It’s my revenge for being forever scarred.”

Arthur swallows his embarrassment and smirks at Morgana. “Now who’s the prude?”

“Well, I didn’t need to know you liked chains. God, Arthur.”

Half the room seems to choke on their snacks, but Leon laughs brightly, nearly spilling beer down himself. “Not everyone gets your sense of humour, Morgana. You shouldn’t ruin Arthur’s good reputation.”

“Don’t worry, we already realised Arthur was a dirty sod when we met him.” Gwaine winks at him.

He can’t help but look at Merlin, slightly panicked. Merlin meets his gaze quickly and he shakes his head ever so slightly. It isn’t much, but Arthur knows what it meant: no one knows. It’s also the first bit of communication he’s had with Merlin that acknowledges their shared past, which is strange, scary and exhilarating all at once. 

When Merlin speaks, Arthur nearly jumps in surprise, but catches himself in time. “Christ. Stop bullying Arthur and worry about yourselves. Don’t think I don’t see you ogling Morgana’s breasts, Gwaine, you pervert!”

Gwaine’s grin is nothing short of gigantic. “Can you blame me?”

“Why did we even put on a film?” Gwen asks, but she’s grinning. Her fingers thread into Lancelot’s hair as she looks at them all fondly. 

Arthur isn’t looking at anyone fondly. He would rather like to murder all of them. 

“I hate all of you,” he announces to raucous laughter. 

“Hey,” Merlin says indignantly. “I got them off your case!”

“Yeah, well. You took the last peanut M&M.” Arthur can’t help the grin that spreads across his face at the light tone that passes between him and Merlin. It tugs at something so frighteningly familiar. 

Merlin’s answering grin is one Arthur knows so well that his heart leaps acrobatically into his throat. He’s always loved when Merlin laughs, loved when his entire face spreads open in amusement and lightness. 

“I totally forgot that –” the comment dies on Merlin’s lips, but it only takes him a split second to recover. “that I took the last one.”

But Arthur knows what he’d been meaning to say. _I totally forgot that you loved them._ Swallowing heavily, Arthur tries to push back the wave of nostalgia that makes him feel kind of queasy. 

“I should answer this,” Arthur mutters to no one in particular and hastens into the kitchen with his phone in hand even though he has no particular wish to text Cenred back. 

He slips into the kitchen, drawing a hand through his hair in that annoying way he always does when he’s stressed out, which only serves to give him messy hair and doesn’t really help anything at all. His job has taught him that focusing on his breath calms him down, especially if he counts with each inhale and exhale. So he doesn’t know how long he stands there, but it must have been a while since he suddenly finds himself face to face with Merlin who enters the kitchen with an empty bowl in his hand. 

“Did you get a hold of your friend?” Merlin asks as he reaches for an unopened pack of crisps. 

Arthur knows the pretence of answering Cenred is probably not very convincing since his phone is discarded a long way out of reach. 

“It wasn’t important,” he just says, shrugging. 

“Morgana’s convinced you’re having phone sex, you know.” 

Arthur rolls his eyes, but answers Merlin’s smile tentatively. “She always thinks I’m doing indecent things. Takes one to know one, I guess.”

Merlin doesn’t answer, but he takes his time opening another packet of crisps and emptying the contents into the bowl. Arthur studies him without bothering to disguise where he’s looking. It’s strange how time takes something familiar and develops it, but always keeps those little core things that make someone who they are. Merlin is still awkward, but graceful in a strange way. His face is more defined now and he’s grown into his body. His shoulders are broader and he seems to carry himself with more certainty, but his arms and legs still seem too long for him and he’s still sharp and angular. 

“She talks about your boything,” Merlin finally says, keeping his gaze on the bowl. 

“Yes.” 

Arthur wants to explain, he just doesn’t know where to start. The ‘yes’ is a horribly insufficient answer and it hangs awkwardly between them. 

“They all know,” is all he can manage to say next. “There’s no hiding.”

In a way, he wants to know what Merlin’s face looks like when he says it, but if there’s hurt there he can’t face that at the moment. He knows so well how much he’s hurt Merlin, but seeing it with his own eyes is something else entirely. 

“That is, honestly, very good for you, Arthur,” Merlin says so earnestly that Arthur wants to cry. 

Arthur crosses his arms over his chest, leaning back against the counter as he tries and fails to not think about past conversations that were absolutely nothing like these. “You’re a better person than I am.” 

“Good to know we can agree on something,” Merlin says, his smile sad, perhaps, but not malicious. 

Suddenly there’s a moment there that feels like it needs to be filled with an apology and maybe a confession or two.

“Merlin, I –” His phone goes off again and he curses, knowing the moment has slipped out of his hands. “Sodding Cenred.”

It seems that Merlin might not want to hear what Arthur has to say as he slips out of the kitchen as quickly as he can and Arthur can hardly blame him, really. He rubs tiredly at his eyes, feeling lost. There’s clearly some leftover of feelings for Merlin, even after all this time, but it’s too complicated. He doesn’t want these leftover feelings; he wants it all to go away. The fact of the matter is that he’s always thought of Merlin as the one that got away, even though he’ll obviously not admit such a thing out loud. 

Laughter from the living room reaches him in the kitchen and his shoulders slump. He knows that he was only a kid when he messed things up with Merlin. He was the confused, terrified, stupid eighteen year old son of Uther Pendragon who realised he was gay and the whole thing with Merlin had been doomed from the start because Merlin was secure in his sexuality while Arthur had no clue what was happening. But even if he was only eighteen at the time, there really is no way Arthur can expect Merlin to forgive all of that, so he’ll just have to kill all remaining feelings for Merlin. If they’re going to be in the same group of friends, he’ll really have to bury it somehow. 

“Arthur?” 

He looks up to find Morgana in the doorway, all trace of mockery and teasing gone from her expression. 

“You’re missing the film,” she says softly and he nods.

He leaves his phone behind on the kitchen counter without answering Cenred.

***

“I left it on your assistant’s desk this morning,” Morgana says, her expression bordering on murderous. “You really need an assistant that isn’t a blithering moron. How many times has she lost your files now?”

Arthur glances up at his irate sister briefly as he flips through the papers on his desk. “Have you forgotten who told me to hire her in the first place? You told me her aunt had just died and that it would be good for me to do something decent for someone else for once.”

Morgana purses her lips, looking put out. “What? That’s her?”

“Of course it is,” he says exasperatedly, throwing his arms out. “Who else would it be? It’s only been a month.”

“But she had qualifications and amazing recommendations.”

“But she was also a blithering mess during the interview and I told you she wasn’t cut out for it.”

Morgana hates being wrong about as much as he does and he briefly wonders if she’s going to throw a tantrum in his office, but she holds herself together. “God, just fire her. I can’t deal with all these lost files, I’m going to have a nervous breakdown and dye my hair pink.”

Trying very hard not to laugh, Arthur starts rummaging through his drawers. 

“And if you tell anyone I admitted she’s awful, I’ll take great pleasure in letting Gwaine know about the time I caught you wanking over a picture of that guy from Westlife.”

Arthur pauses his search to glare at her. “Go right ahead.” He smirks. “Then I’ll tell him about the time I found you trying to pay the gardener to give you snogging lessons.”

Morgana is about to answer when Arthur finds the file wedged between his monitor and the wall. They both stare at it for a moment before Arthur scratches his neck and looks up at his assistant through the open door. “Yeah, I’m just going to fire her, if you don’t mind.”

“Please do,” Morgana says through clenched teeth. “That’ll teach me to ever be nice to anyone ever again.”

Arthur laughs, sticking the file and a notepad under his arm. “Where’s Gwen?”

“She’s waiting in the conference room,” Morgana says as they head out of Arthur’s office and she glares very, very nastily at Arthur’s assistant, making her flinch. 

Arthur knows first-hand how scary Morgana’s glares are, so he feels temporarily sympathetic, but then he remembers how many times his assistant has been a pain in his arse lately and he thinks maybe he’ll let Morgana fire her just for kicks. 

Gwen’s waiting for them in the conference room with a batch of campaign ideas and Arthur sits back in his chair, listening intently as Gwen talks about social media strategies and ads in the university newspaper. It’s been the three of them working closely together as long as he can remember and it always makes him feel safe and in control whenever Morgana and Gwen handle the things he doesn’t know how to do. Gwen is the head of marketing, while Morgana leads the development team and he oversees the funding. And while Uther is technically the CEO of the Camelot coffee empire, it really is the three of them running the whole show. 

Arthur flips through the file he’d found behind his monitor, looking at the results from the first quarter at their newest shop. He frowns, tapping his fingers against the table. 

“These results really aren’t as good as we thought they’d be,” he says, gesturing at the file. 

Morgana nods, her lips pursed. “But we have a better idea of which customers we’re looking at. We seem to be attracting a younger crowd, which is why we’re aiming towards the social media and the university newspaper.”

“There’s a shop not far from ours that the students use a lot,” Gwen says, flipping through her diagrams. “We’re hoping to direct some of their customers to us by giving them a better deal.”

“And my team has been looking at developing a few products specifically for the university crowd.”

Arthur nods slowly, deliberating. “The profit’s not horrible, so we can afford giving it a few months before we evaluate it again.” He turns to Gwen. “Have you considered anything else at the university besides the newspaper?”

Gwen and Morgana exchange looks at that and they seem to engage in some kind of silent war, which always makes Arthur incredibly uncomfortable because it never, ever bodes well for him when they do that. He pinches the bridge of his nose and tries to breathe properly, hoping that it’s nothing too horrible. God, please don’t let it be horrible. 

“Well, we were thinking of running some kind of poster campaign,” Morgana says finally. “Find a model and make some gorgeous looking posters that’ll catch their attention. Maybe feature the products that my team come up with.”

He looks up and eyes her suspiciously. That doesn’t sound so bad. It definitely doesn’t warrant the silent conversation through eyebrows and significant looks the two of them have been engaging in. 

“And, uh, we thought Merlin could be the model,” Gwen says so quickly that Arthur barely hears it. 

“What?”

Morgana waves her hand in his direction. “Well, come on. Slap a pair of black-rimmed glasses on him and he’s basically the poster child of those hipster-chic university guys.”

“Not to mention that his cheekbones will kick right off on camera.”

“That too,” Morgana agrees. 

Arthur’s so busy staring at them that he has to take a few seconds to compose himself. “Wait, have you actually asked Merlin?”

Gwen shifts in her seat, looking suitably uncomfortable. “Well, no.”

“Because he won’t do it, you know,” Arthur says. “Not in a million years.”

He belatedly realises that he probably shouldn’t know with such certainty that Merlin won’t say yes, considering he’s only supposed to have known him for a few weeks, but Gwen and Morgana also seem to realise that it’s a bit outside Merlin’s comfort zone. 

“That’s why we kind of figured that, uh.” Gwen looks at Morgana for help, but Morgana ignores her, pretending to be very busy scribbling in her file. “We figured that you could...ask him.”

“What, me?” Arthur nearly shouts, feeling absolutely terrified for a multitude of reasons. “Why on earth should I ask him?”

Gwen looks mortified. “Well, we thought it would be kind of obvious why you should. I don’t know...”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Morgana says, rolling her eyes. “Arthur, you know why we’re asking you to do this. Stop acting daft.”

“I’m not acting daft; I actually don’t understand what the ever-loving fuck you’re on about.”

“Stop being cute, dear.” Morgana shuts her file and starts collecting her things. “Good meeting. See you tonight at Gwaine and Merlin’s house warming party.”

Both Morgana and Gwen sweep out of the room before he can even will himself to speak. Two seconds later, he’s hanging his head between his knees, trying to get the dizziness to subside.

***

When Merlin pulls the door open and beams, Arthur is temporarily blinded by the sheer force of it and he can’t quite remember the linearity of time. For a fleeting moment it’s him and Merlin being _him and Merlin_ and he only comes back to the present reality of things when his brain processes the loud chatter from inside. He’s not here to sneak Merlin off to the guest house where they can hide from the world and explore each other in peace: he’s here to house warm Merlin and Gwaine’s new flat.

“Hey,” Merlin says, sounding a bit breathless. “Didn’t think you’d come.”

Arthur gives him an odd look as he slips inside. The hallway is small and cramped and he finds himself closer to Merlin than he thinks he’s been in years. Merlin’s breath even ghosts across his cheek as they stare at each other for a moment and it feels unbearably intimate, making Arthur shift uncomfortably to break the spell. He tries hanging up his jacket, but the rack is already filled to the brim and Merlin takes it from him, shrugging apologetically as he tries to wrestle Arthur’s jacket in place. 

“Why on earth wouldn’t I?” Arthur asks. “I even brought house warming gifts.” He holds up a paper bag as proof. 

“Morgana came without you and for some reason I thought you guys always go everywhere together, so.” 

Arthur scoffs. “Of course we don’t.” Except they kind of do, which is a bit of an uncomfortable thought. He doesn’t quite know when he became so close to Morgana. She must have snuck up on him, the sneaky little wench. 

Suddenly Merlin disappears inside the mountain of coats and jackets that cling onto the rack by sheer force of will it seems and Arthur yells “Merlin! Don’t be scared, I’ll save you!” in mock worry and he hears Merlin’s muffled laugh from under the pile. Reaching a hand into the sea of fabric, Arthur fumbles around until his fingers curl around a wrist and he tugs, knowing that his smile is a touch too wide as Merlin reappears, his hair standing at odd angles on his head. 

“You saved my life,” Merlin says reverently, his eyes dancing with mirth. 

“I’m trying to outdo Lance, you know.”

“I’ll be sure to let him know that you’re catching up.”

Arthur releases Merlin’s wrist regretfully, but scolds himself for letting his thumb feel the soft skin of Merlin’s wrist in the first place. These are the exact things he’s supposed to avoid. He’s not supposed to indulge in these things. And come to think of it, the house warming gift was probably a spectacularly bad idea too. He can feel the tremors in the groundwork they’ve constructed carefully in the past few weeks.

“You’ll probably have to let me know when you need that jacket back,” Merlin says, stepping out of the hallway that seems uncomfortably small for the two of them. “I don’t think you’re cut out for going in there.”

Arthur follows him into the flat, finding it about the same size as Gwen’s, but the kitchen and the living room is effectively just one large room and there’s next to nothing actually in it except all of their friends and a truckload of boxes everywhere. 

“Sorry about the mess.” Merlin gestures at the room. “Apparently, my entire life is boxes right now. I still don’t think I’ll ever get rid of them.”

“Ah, damn. My house warming gift is a cardboard box.”

Merlin gives a silent laugh where his face spreads into a grin and his shoulder shake, making Arthur smile indulgently and he feels oddly self-conscious as he waves quickly at Gwen who’s greeting him from her seat on the sofa. 

“Hey, everyone,” Merlin announces brightly. “It’s Arthur!”

“Hey, Arthur!” the group choirs, and Arthur feels like he’s in a cheesy sitcom, but he can live with that. He’s always been partial to sitcoms. 

Merlin sits down on the floor with his legs crossed, patting a cardboard box unhelpfully labelled ‘stuff’. It’s apparently meant to be Arthur’s seat. “He’s giving Lance a run for his money. He just saved my life from the evil coats of doom.”

“I’m not even going to ask,” Lance says, holding his hands up. 

“And he also brought house warming gifts.”

Arthur is beginning to feel a bit uncomfortable, because his gift to Merlin really is a terrible idea in hindsight. It seemed perfect when he thought of it, but now it’s just ridiculous and he realises he has to give it to Merlin in front of everyone and fuck, he’s such a _fool_. 

“Arthur,” Morgana says, dragging out his name as if she’s purring. “You don’t have to soften the blow of your presence with gifts.”

He rolls his eyes at her, desperately trying to quell his desire to stick his tongue out at her since they’re not actually twelve anymore. 

“Brilliant,” Gwaine exclaims from his seat on the floor below the sofa. “I fucking love gifts. Why don’t we move houses all the time, Merlin?”

“The boxes.” Merlin hugs his knees to his chest and whimpers. “The boxes, Gwaine. They’ll all band together in the middle of the night and conspire to murder me in my sleep. I can see it in their eyes.”

As laughter erupts, Gwaine kicks Merlin in the shins. “Sod off and let the man give me presents, Merlin. What do you have against presents?”

Placing his hands on the floor behind him, Merlin leans back and fixes Gwaine a stare. “Nothing, as long as they don’t require a box.”

“These are actually really awful gifts, so maybe I’ll just...”

“Don’t you dare, Pendragon,” Gwaine says menacingly, pointing at him. “I’ll have what’s mine, damn you.”

Arthur gives a breathless laugh and peers into his bag, realising that since he did start it, he probably has to finish it. As he hands Gwaine his gift, the room erupts in light laughter as everyone with functioning eyes can see that it’s a bottle hidden under the sparkly unicorn wrapping paper. 

“Oh, Pendragon,” Gwaine says, his voice soft. “You know me so well.”

“Yes, well,” Arthur says in mock bashfulness, “I try.”

Maybe it’s a cop out to give Gwaine a bottle of whiskey, but then again Arthur hasn’t actually known Gwaine for more than a few weeks and in any case he suspects that there might not actually be a gift that Gwaine would rather like. But it will probably make Merlin’s gift even weirder in comparison, which he deeply regrets as he holds the blue box in his hand and it seems to burn itself into his palm. 

“For you,” he says unnecessarily as he holds the box out for Merlin. 

Everyone watches with an interest that makes Arthur want to bury himself a very big hole and sink into it. He holds his breath as Merlin stares at him for a moment before gingerly lifting the lid of the gift box and peering inside. A disbelieving smile spreads across Merlin’s face and he laughs, shaking his head. Arthur knows Merlin probably thinks he’s dumb as a post right now, but he can’t quite get himself to care as his heart does this strange twisty thing at Merlin’s obvious wonder. 

The room goes quiet when Merlin pulls out a giraffe figurine, holding it softly in his hand. The giraffe is wearing a footie shirt that Arthur nicked from a little footie player toy and he’s also glued the accompanying football onto one of the front legs of the giraffe. 

“What the bloody hell is that,” Gwaine says, breaking the stunned silence and disbelieving laughter follows. 

Lance runs a hand over his face as if he’s not actually sure he’s seeing this. “I’m sorry, mate, but that’s the worst house warming gift I’ve ever seen.”

It doesn’t matter what they all think of it, though, because Merlin is grinning and turning the giraffe over in his hand. 

“It’s brilliant,” Merlin says and when he looks up at Arthur there really is no doubt in Arthur’s mind that it was a mistake because he just wants to pull Merlin into a hug and make everything right but it just doesn’t work like that. 

Elena leans forwards in her chair and peers at the figurine with interest. “I don’t get it,” she says, looking at Arthur in confusion. 

“It’s an inside joke,” Merlin explains. “A very complicated one.”

“Leave it to the two of you to have inside jokes within three weeks of friendship,” Lance says dryly, but his expression is fond anyway. 

Thankfully, his friends are chronically distracted by shiny things and topics, and the attention drifts from the giraffe in Merlin’s hand to Leon telling everybody about the time he, Arthur and Morgana broke into the London Zoo at 4 AM at night to look at penguins. Merlin turns to look at him while everyone is focused on Leon and he looks troubled in a way that makes Arthur regret the gift just a little bit more, despite the happiness of Merlin’s initial reaction. 

“You might be a bit crazy,” Merlin tells him and he nods in reply. 

“Yes, I’m beginning to think I might be.”

“Thank you, though. Really.”

It’s a stupid gift, but Arthur can’t deny that it reveals a certain fondness for Merlin. Arthur always said the giraffe was Merlin’s spirit animal. It, too, has a long neck and gangly legs and Merlin looks like one when he runs, which is basically the first thing Arthur told him when they met on their footie team. Merlin had obviously taken great offense to this, not knowing that Arthur had always had a particular fascination with giraffes. It would probably still be offensive even if he had known that, though. 

It seems like such a long time ago that they played footie for laughs on a crap team that never won any games. His father doesn’t even know he’d played, because Arthur didn’t want to play the way Uther would want him to. Uther would want him to train with the best, practise day and night until he won everything that could be won and then got signed to Manchester United, handpicked by Sir Alex himself. Arthur had just wanted to play: to mess about and play games for laughs, not caring that they lost 5 to 2 to that team of fourteen year old girls from the next town over. 

Arthur’s chest aches with the memories, but he pulls himself together and accepts the beer Leon holds out to him, trying to look for the world as if he’s just given Merlin a meaningless gag gift and that it isn’t carrying the soul of his eighteen year old self.

***

It becomes obvious that Morgana and Gwen are up to something. He doesn’t think he’s ever been dragged to so many things with the two of them together and it seems like a really unlikely coincidence that these activities always include Merlin. It’s never Lance, never Gwaine, never even Elena or Leon. It’s always Merlin and Arthur. The worst of it is that there are always attempts to leave them to their own devices. Morgana and Gwen keep trying to think of new and inventive ways to slink off, which leads to increasingly awkward moments that Arthur could really be without.

Things have been a bit off since the house warming gift. Arthur knows that he’d broken the silent agreement to not address their shared past and it has shifted their cordial relationship into something more strained. The continued attempts to get them alone are not helping anything, to say the least. Arthur feels like he might have messed everything up just a little bit, even if his intentions were good and the best intentions of Morgana and Gwen are turning up much the same in terms of results. 

Arthur looks at Merlin across the table at the café. There’s no doubt that Merlin is suffering as much as he is, because Merlin looks absolutely miserable. Arthur cranes his neck, trying to see if Morgana and Gwen are heading back from their impossibly long bathroom break yet. He’s decided that he hates them with a deeply embedded passion. They’re really contributing to the ruin of a carefully constructed equilibrium and he would like very much for them to stop. 

He lets out a breath of relief when he sees Morgana coming back to the table and he holds out the chair for her, raising his eyebrow challengingly with the hope that his eyebrow portrays every one of his really, really angry feelings. 

“Sorry, boys,” she says, leaning down to kiss Arthur’s cheek. “Elena is having an emergency and she really needs some girl time with Gwen and me. You understand, right?”

Arthur opens his mouth to say that he really does not understand and no, it’s not okay, but Morgana doesn’t give any of them the time to even get their thoughts in order. 

“Great. You lads are stars!” She beams. 

A pressing silence settles after Morgana has taken off with the girls’ things and Arthur spends the time fantasising of all the ways he’s going to kill the two of them. So far they’ve only tried to get him and Merlin alone by staying in the bathroom for ages, walking several feet ahead of them, but this... this is below the belt. Arthur looks up and finds Merlin staring out the window, his lips set in a tight line. 

“I’m sorry,” Arthur says, but the words feel empty because they can never convey just how sorry he is about _everything_. “I don’t know what they’re doing. I swear.”

“I know.”

Arthur swallows, looking down into his cup. “Look, maybe...” His voice falters. “Maybe this is a good time to talk some things out.”

He sees Merlin’s shoulders slump and he forgets how to breathe for a second, feeling like his world is falling down around him because nothing is right and everything is wrong and he hates sodding Morgana and her meddling best friend. 

“Arthur.”

Closing his eyes, Arthur drowns in how his name sounds in Merlin’s voice, even if it’s strained and not the way he remembers it. He knows it can sound like a thousand different words and feel like a hundred different touches. 

“It’s great seeing you again. It really is.” Merlin sits with his hands clasped in his lap when Arthur opens his eyes to the words. “But I can’t rip open that wound again. It’s closed and it’s over and I can’t.”

Arthur swallows heavily, dropping his gaze to the stale coffee in his cup. 

“I understand,” he says, his voice so strange that he hates hearing himself speak. “I’ve never had any illusions that you’d listen to me if we met again.”

Merlin is still not looking at him and Arthur thinks that maybe it’s easier that way. He looks at the profile of Merlin’s face: beautiful even when taut and strained. 

“But I want you to know that my wound never closed,” he says, the honesty of the words burning in his throat. “Fuck, I’ve practised a speech in my head for a decade, Emrys. And then you just walk into my life and I lost my speech somewhere between looking at your hand and your face.”

“Arthur,” Merlin says again, his voice breaking slightly. 

“I’m sorry,” Arthur says again, knowing he’s probably causing inflation in the usage of apologies. “I know you don’t want to talk about it. But I am sorry, so fucking sorry – you have no idea.”

When Merlin just closes his eyes and breathes, Arthur moves from the rickety chair in the shoddy café they’d randomly stumbled into and walks towards the exit, trying to not feel sorry for being honest. 

He comes to a stop when Merlin calls his name. Damn it. He should just walk off and not deal with it, but he doesn’t want to: not when Merlin is calling his name and looks like a terrified child when Arthur turns around to face him. Merlin is wringing his hands nervously and not meeting Arthur’s gaze.

“I can’t talk about _this_ , but could we just talk in general?”

Arthur pauses and hesitates for a moment, but he knows that he’s fucked. He’s so incredibly fucked when it comes to Merlin that it’s not even funny.

“Yeah, we can talk in general.” Arthur sits down on his seat again, leaning onto the table in an attempt to find a comfortable position. “Might help if you look at me, though.”

Or it could do the opposite of help. Arthur realises this belatedly when Merlin looks at him sheepishly and Arthur’s stomach seems to have lost its original spot in his body and instead plummeted to somewhere a lot less comfortable. 

“So, what have you been doing with your life, then, Emrys?” Arthur asks, partly to diffuse the tense silence and partly because he’s been avoiding these topics for the past few weeks, even if he’s been burning to know. “You can’t deny me knowing that, at least.”

Merlin smiles slightly and Arthur can see him trying to relax, his hands coming to rest in his lap now. 

“I went to university on that scholarship I applied for. And that was really great. I had some amazing years there, met a lot of great people,” Merlin says and Arthur thinks that he deserves being happy, but something ugly curls tightly in his chest anyway. 

“So you did your maths degree, then?” 

The genuine laugh Merlin gives surprises him. “Oh, I forgot that I wanted to do that. Wow, that’s... no, I had a complete turn-around and went into art.”

Arthur raises an eyebrow at him. “That’s quite the change.”

“Yeah, well.” Merlin squares his jaw, almost defiantly. “Art was there for me during a difficult time in my life.”

It’s really unnerving how talking to Merlin these days is much like being punched repeatedly in the gut, but then kind of liking it anyway. Maybe Arthur’s a bit more of a masochist than he wants to admit. 

“So what do you do now, then?” Arthur asks as he fills the new information about Merlin into his mental picture, trying to replace the imaginary life he’s built for him in the absence of real information. 

“I teach art to kids.”

At first Arthur wants to laugh, but then he thinks about Merlin flailing about in a classroom full of paint while he encourages them to be creative and spill their hearts out on a canvas and he suddenly can’t imagine Merlin doing anything else. 

“That suits you,” he says and Merlin snorts. 

“How do you know?”

“I just do.”

“So I take it you work as one of those dodgy seers then?”

“Yeah, I have a booth up at the fair every year. Crystal ball and everything.” 

Merlin rolls his eyes at him and smiles slightly before growing suddenly serious again. “Where did your life take you, then?”

Arthur swallows, wondering how much he should tell Merlin about his life post-Merlin, as he likes to call it. It isn’t something he talks about much, but he has so very little desire to lie to Merlin of all people. Drawing a hand through his hair, he looks down at the table briefly before he decides. 

“Well, I spent a couple of years getting hammered and making bad decisions and pretending I was straight.” It comes out a lot more flippantly than he intends. “Then I straightened myself out and joined Morgana in working for Camelot. Worked myself up and took some university classes here and there as they fit, but I have no official degree. Didn’t make any friends there either.”

It’s funny how the relationship between his mouth and his brain works. He’d intended for the first part of his confession to be heartfelt and the last comment to be flippant and joking in quality, but then it went pear-shaped somewhere and it came out exactly opposite. So now he just sounds flippant about his horrible years pretending to be a straight socialite, and also decidedly bitter about not having the university experience. Great. 

“Are you happy?” Merlin asks, cocking his head to the side. 

Oh God. Arthur wants to curl up and die. Leave it to Merlin to ask questions he doesn’t know how to fucking answer. He isn’t miserable or anything. He has Morgana, for as much as he complains about her she’s been invaluable. His friends are better people than he has any right to ask for and his job is more than he deserves after wasting all of his chances. But that’s just the thing, he supposes: he doesn’t feel like he deserves any of it. He blew so many chances and made so many mistakes and he doesn’t know if he can ever forgive himself. So is he happy? He doesn’t know. Sometimes he is, or he thinks he can be or he feels like he should be. 

He knows he should answer. It doesn’t have to be much. He can just joke it off and say something stupid about how no one can be happy with Morgana breathing her demon fire down their necks. But he can’t get himself to say it and when he meets Merlin’s gaze he knows that his prolonged silence has been more than answer enough.

***

Arthur can’t take it anymore as he’s dragged through the crowd at the club. This time Morgana has outright lied to him to get him here and that’s something he does not appreciate in the least. He had shown up on Morgana’s door step to help her out with her new TV, but found himself being dragged out to a club with Morgana, Gwen and Merlin and he has never hated her more in his life. The last time they’d pushed the two of them together, Arthur ended up revealing way too much about his sorry excuse for a life. And he’d also gotten the lovely confirmation that Merlin is completely done with anything that happened nine years ago and that his wound is closed. Arthur is not in the mood for this.

“Morgana,” he says the moment Merlin takes off to dance. “I’m sick of this game now. What do you guys think you’re doing?”

Morgana pets him softly on the arm. “Oh, brother, dear. We’re just helping you along.”

Carefully arranging his expression and voice into a look of severity, he tries to convey just how very serious this is. “Please stop. Please.”

“I’ve never heard him say please,” Gwen says, leaning against Morgana. “Must be bad.”

“Arthur,” Morgana says, rolling her eyes. “Everyone with eyes could see the tension crackling between you guys from the moment you met. There’s obviously something between you guys, you’re just both too stubborn to act on it.”

“So that’s what you guys have been doing?” he asks, not able to stop himself from being angry. “You guys have been matchmaking us? All these little excursions just the four of us and the whole leaving us alone thing?”

Gwen has the decency to look at least a bit ashamed. “Well, it’s for your own good. Everyone’s been talking about how you guys are clearly into each other.”

He tries to think about their good intentions. Maybe it’s his fault for not telling them the truth from the beginning, but he can’t help but feel so much anger at their meddling and how much they’ve upset the careful balance he’d struck with Merlin. The balance is all wrong now and nothing gives that more emphasis than when his eyes find Merlin in the crowd. Merlin is moving to the beat of the music, his hands thrown up over his head and his face dancing with laughter. The guy facing him has his hands on Merlin’s hips, following Merlin’s movements to the music. 

Arthur has never agreed with those who claim sex changes nothing. He’s always thought sex changes a lot of things, because it’s just so intimate. It’s why he never does it with friends and why fuck buddies is just a thing he can’t really do anymore. It’s just that seeing people at their most vulnerable and intimate changes how you see them, which can be an amazing thing or a really bad thing. And as Arthur watches Merlin dance, he can’t help but think about Merlin’s playful little smiles and the intensity of his gaze. He thinks about the feeling of Merlin’s surprisingly soft body under his own fingertips. He thinks about the way Merlin throws his head back and moans. And it’s all so unbearably intimate that he thinks he’s going to cry as he tries to tear his eyes away from the dancers and the stranger’s hands on Merlin’s hips. 

Anger, jealousy and sorrow slams into him like a wall and he gets up on shaky legs, knowing he needs to get out of there. He changes his mind a second later and whips around to face Morgana and Gwen who seem to have caught onto the fact that they’re not on the same wavelength. 

“You don’t know...” he begins, but shakes his head, not knowing how to explain. “You don’t know what you’re messing with. You’re meddling in things that aren’t your business, just fuck off. So yeah, thanks a lot for your _help_.”

He knows they can probably see the tears in his eyes and he feels completely mortified. Through some miracle he manages to flee the club, find a cab and make it all the way home before he collapses on the sofa under the sheer force of everything that’s been happening since Merlin came back into his life. He cries in that really embarrassing way that he really, really hates and hasn’t done in forever. It makes him feel eighteen again, which he realises is a terribly familiar feeling right now and it angers him. He’s twenty-seven now. He’s not an awkward eighteen year old confused kid hiding in the closet, he’s twenty-seven year old man who is out to all his friends and he’s built himself a life that isn’t all too bad, all things considered. 

Blindly grabbing a bottle of _anything_ from his stash of alcohol, he pours himself a glass and flops back into the pillows of the sofa as he ignores the wetness on his cheeks. He tries to make sense of his feelings, but that’s about as easy as it sounds. He feels heavy, though. It’s like he has the weight of difficult years behind him that he hasn’t forgiven himself for, but also the weight of the life that could have been if the eighteen year old him had just grabbed Merlin by the hand, marched into his father’s study and told his father to accept him as he was or lose out on it entirely. 

Memories of Merlin’s face from the day he’d had enough of the secrecy and the shame swims before his eyes and he pushes his hand against them as if it will help stop the stupid, mortifying tears. As his life goes, that is the exact moment the door to his flat opens. He knows he locked it, so that can only mean it’s Morgana who is the only one with a key. The sound of her high heels against the hardwood floors comes to a halt, but he doesn’t have it in him to pry his hand from his face. 

“Jesus, Arthur,” she says and in seconds she’s on the couch next to him, wrapping him into her arms and he feels beyond horrified at himself. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know... I know we did this somehow, so I’m just sorry, okay?”

He nods into her embrace and she runs her hand through his hair, muttering nonsense against his temple. Relaxing into it, he knows he can’t be angry at Morgana, because this is how she’s always been. She pushes him and she teases him, but she always picks up the pieces. 

“Did Merlin hurt you?” she asks, her voice the softest he’s heard it in ages. “He might be a puppy, but that won’t stop me from killing him.”

He laughs a hollow laugh, looking for that centre of calm in himself that might give him even the slightest bit of dignity back from all of this.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he says, not finding the energy to make some elaborate lie or excuse. “Please, let’s just not.”

“Okay,” she says, rubbing her hand against his arm. “Okay, we won’t.”

***

It turns out that Gwen and Morgana take his breakdown to heart and they don’t even make him ask Merlin to model for the campaign. Instead, they’ve apparently asked him themselves and are setting up the shoot in the office of all places when he gets there one morning. Arthur just stands in one spot staring at the bustle of workers, utterly perplexed. He would feel a bit angry about not being warned, but he’s been studiously ignoring Morgana since the very embarrassing ordeal where he cried into her brand new designer dress, so he can’t exactly fault her for not being able to tell him.

Sneaking up behind her, he leans in as he looks at the crew setting up lights against the white backdrop. “How on earth did you talk him into it?”

She jumps and turns, but breaks into a smile when she sees it’s him. He wouldn’t have faulted her if she gave him grief for ignoring her, but she looks nothing but pleased. 

“Oh, it was a day’s work, I’ll tell you that,” she says just as Gwen comes up to them, clutching her beloved clipboard. 

“Are we talking about Merlin?” Gwen asks, sweeping a stray curl out of her eyes. “Because I thought we’d never get him to do it. And even now, I’m pretty sure someone will have to drag him out in front of the camera.”

Morgana laughs. “We probably could have picked a more willing model.”

“He’s perfect for it, though,” Gwen says. “I just checked on him and they’re doing the make-up right now. It’ll be amazing.”

“I still don’t quite believe he’s actually here,” Arthur says, surveying the room. 

“At first we tried to get Gwaine to bully him into it, but apparently Merlin is immune to Gwaine’s challenges. At least if he really doesn’t want to.” Morgana laughs. “Then we tried to get Lance to guilt him into it, but that didn’t work too well either.”

Gwen nods and scribbles something on her clipboard. “In the end we had to talk to him ourselves and tell him that it’d be a favour among friends. I think that did the trick. We told him it’d really help us. And you.”

They both give him a significant look and he almost asks if Morgana would like for him to cry on her again, but he’s not about to talk about that episode out loud ever again under any circumstances. 

“I guess that would be the way to get to Merlin,” he says instead. “He likes doing things for other people.”

At that moment, he sees Lance pushing the object of their conversation into the lights and Merlin squints into them, looking awkward and terrified like a tiny kitten crowded by bulldogs. 

“Oh dear,” Morgana says softly. 

“Why are you guys even doing this here?” Arthur gestures vaguely at the office landscape. 

“Cheaper than hiring a studio,” Gwen says, distractedly as she flips through her papers. 

“Yeah, but why on my floor?”

“Well, I think Merlin can use all the support he can get, don’t you?” Morgana raises her eyebrows and nods her head towards Merlin who looks stiff as a board as the photographer tries to put him into a pose. 

The three of them move closer to the site of the shoot, joining Lance who sits on an equipment box with a pained look on his face. 

“You should’ve gotten a professional model, you know,” Lance says as they all watch Merlin grin towards the camera like he’s in a tooth paste commercial. 

Gwen puts a hand on his arm. “Don’t say that. Merlin can do this.”

But after a while, Arthur is pretty sure all of them are starting to wonder if Merlin _can_ do this. He seems completely unable to relax and the discomfort is rolling off him in waves. Gwen’s shouted encouragements don’t help much and neither does Morgana’s posing advice. Lance is only watching, tight-lipped, and obviously displeased at the situation Merlin’s been put in. 

Sod it. Arthur’s been swearing to keep his distance from Merlin ever since The Breakdown, because it’s clearly not good for his general well-being to try to sort out this confusion, but it’s just that when Merlin is there it doesn’t seem natural to pull away from him. Especially not when Merlin looks like a lost kitten in a thunderstorm. 

“Oh god, I can’t watch this anymore,” Arthur says and steps right into the shoot, prompting an angry exclamation from the photographer. 

Arthur holds up his hand and apologises, but even the photographer and his crew seem to realise that Merlin might need some guidance and they stay back, looking weary. 

“Hey,” Arthur says, standing with his back to Morgana, Gwen and Lance as if to shield them from prying eyes. 

Merlin exhales, his shoulders sagging. “I’m awful at this. As I told them I would be.”

“They wouldn’t have asked you if they didn’t think you could do it, you know,” Arthur says, taking in Merlin’s strained expression. “You’re not doing that bad, you just need to loosen up and act more natural. Don’t try to be a model, just try to look like you.”

Merlin looks at him doubtfully. “That’s horrible advice. I’m here to be a model, aren’t I?”

“No.” Arthur raises an eyebrow at him. “If they wanted that, they would have called an agency. You’re here to be you: your awkwardness and ridiculous ears and all.” He waves his hand for emphasis. 

“Hey,” Merlin protests weakly, but looks thoughtful. “So they want awkward?”

“Awkward is the new chic, I’ve heard.”

Merlin laughs incredulously.

“Did you really just say that?”

“God help me, I think I did.”

“So they just want me to stand here and be me?” Merlin sounds almost relieved now. 

“Think giraffe,” Arthur says, not able to hide a smile. “Long neck. Lots of leg.”

“You’re a fucking prat, Arthur.” But Merlin laughs anyway. 

“I’m pretty sure that’s a given, yeah.”

They both look up as the photographer approaches, his face looking decidedly tense and his hair is frazzled and sticking up at odd angles as if he’s been pulling on it. 

“Are we ready to continue?” he asks, but it’s definitely more of a command. 

Merlin looks at Arthur and Arthur nods at him in encouragement, smiling slightly. 

“Uhm, Mr. Aden?” Merlin says to the photographer, blushing slightly. “Do you think Arthur could... take a few pictures? Just so I kind of get into it.”

The photographer looks taken aback and fiddles slightly with the expensive camera around his neck. 

“Alright,” he says, sounding a bit strangled. “But know that this isn’t something we usually do.”

Merlin fiddles with the hem of his navy jacket. “I know, and I appreciate that.”

“Merlin, are you sure...I don’t really know how to take pictures,” Arthur says, raising his eyebrows. 

“I just... I need...”

“Okay,” Arthur says quickly, not really wanting Merlin to finish that sentence for some reason. “Just relax, yeah?”

Arthur gingerly accepts the camera from the photographer who shoots him a look of very severe warning and he knows he’ll be really, really screwed if he messes up. 

“I’ve done all the necessary adjustments, so just take a few shots,” Mr. Aden says. “Try to capture the shadows on his face, if you can.”

Arthur promises he will, but he has absolutely no idea what that even means. All that matters is that Merlin might get a bit more comfortable in front of the camera and that Arthur won’t drop it. Not that he can’t afford to buy a new one, but it seems impractical anyway. 

He can feel the eyes of their three friends burrowing into him and he tries not to think about it as he brings the camera up and smiles at Merlin. 

“Giraffe,” he says, smiling fondly as Merlin laughs and sticks his neck out. 

The move causes shadows play on Merlin’s cheekbones in a way that makes Arthur’s mouth go dry and he hurries to take a picture before he continues to talk to Merlin in hushed tones. Merlin is visibly more relaxed and Arthur thinks this might just work. 

“Are you okay to do this?” he asks and Merlin nods. 

Arthur hands the camera back, but only moves a few steps behind the photographer, watching Merlin intently the entire time and speaking up whenever Merlin gets too tense. 

“Christ, Merlin,” he says after a while when Merlin’s shoulders are up around his ears again. “What did I say about just being you? I’ve never seen you look like a pole with a pout.”

“Arse,” Merlin huffs, but shakes out his tension and stands limply in that gangly Merlin way he has and looks absolutely natural. Arthur nearly shakes his head in disbelief. 

Somehow they get through it and Arthur thinks he might look just as relieved as Merlin when it’s over. 

“We got some fantastic shots,” the photographer says and Merlin looks like the picture of disbelief. “Thank you, Mr. Emrys. And Mr. Pendragon.”

Arthur only nods and as Merlin is led away to get back into his normal clothes, he heads back to his friends, trying desperately to look like he does this all the time. When he stops next to them, they all stare at him and he takes a deep breath. 

“Not a word,” he says darkly, but he knows it’s futile. 

“Oh, Arthur,” Morgana coos and pets him lightly on the head. “I knew you had a heart buried somewhere deep, deep inside.”

“Arthur Pendragon: fashion expert,” Lance says, a smile tugging on his lips. 

“Oh God.”

“This is the most bizarre photo-shoot I’ve ever seen,” Gwen says, biting her lip. “Giraffe? Really?”

“You better shut up, you harpies,” Arthur says, eyeing them darkly. “That includes you, Lance.”

Morgana laughs and leans into him, nudging his shoulder. “You were brilliant.”

“Please shut up.”

“Oh, we’re telling _everyone_ ,” Lance assures him and Gwen laughs merrily in agreement. 

When Merlin joins them, Arthur is sulking very, very expertly. He might even be pouting. Gwen wraps Merlin into a hug and beams at him, and Morgana looks like a proud mother hen. 

“You were brilliant, Merlin,” Gwen says, running her hand briefly through his hair. 

“Amazing,” Morgana supplies. 

“Passable,” Lance says, earning him a glare from both of the girls, but Merlin laughs shakily. 

“I was a mess until Arthur swooped in like a knight in shining armour.” Merlin shrugs, but his lip curls in amusement. “I think he’s trying to one-up Lance.”

“I can’t stand for that, Arthur,” Lance says gravely. 

“Shut up, all of you.”

Arthur begins walking towards his office and turns around to flip them off when they laugh. His cheeks burn in slight embarrassment as he slips into his office and burrows himself in the actual work he needs to do. When he comes back from lunch a few hours later, there’s a pack of peanut M&Ms on his desk and he lets himself smile at the gesture without muddling it with all the complications.

***

Arthur should have known that Gwaine would be like a whirlwind of insanity in their lives. As the weeks go by, this grows ever more apparent as Gwaine supplies them with plenty of alcohol and stupid, reckless ideas and Arthur kind of feels like he’s twenty-two instead of twenty-seven. He moans about how Gwaine puts him in terrible situations, but he secretly loves how it feels like the university experience he never had. He is ironically enough finding himself in Merlin’s company more than when Morgana and Gwen were trying to set them up, however, and Arthur has a sneaking suspicion that he may be fast on track for a train wreck.

“Fuck,” Merlin says as he follows Gwaine over the fence. “We’re going to be arrested for this, you know.”

“Your father better bail us out, rich boy,” Gwaine says, grinning. 

Arthur grabs onto the fence and struggles to find his footing, attempting to get over it. 

“My father will never know about this, thanks.” Arthur grunts. “God, why are we doing this?”

“Will you two stop moaning?”

“No, because this is the worst idea you’ve ever had.” Merlin looks up at Arthur who struggles to get over the fence. 

Gwaine snorts. “This is a spectacular idea, I will have you know.” He steadies Arthur as he tumbles down on the other side. “Break the bottle and die.”

“Relax.” Arthur is shaky on his feet, but gets himself together. “Your precious alcohol is safe.”

All three of them safely over the fence, they turn around and look at the perfectly smooth surface of the pool. Arthur can’t quite believe that he’s let himself be talked into taking an illegal late-night dip in the pool that is admittedly public, but not open at night – which technically makes it trespassing and illegal. He shivers a little in anticipation, but if Gwaine asks he’s really against this idea. Truly. 

Gwaine starts pulling his shirt over his head, throwing it unceremoniously to the ground. Sharing a look with Merlin, Arthur shrugs and begins stripping out of his clothes as well. It’s a chilly autumn night and goose bumps travel over his arms as he sheds himself of everything but his boxers. He sets the bottle of whiskey down on the edge of the pool as the three of them line up, sharing secret smiles among each other. They take a collective breath in the still night air before Gwaine roars and the three of them jump into the pool. The water is surprisingly warm and when Arthur rises to the surface, he grins madly at Gwaine who pops up a second later. 

A loud whoop from Gwaine breaks through the sound of rustling water and it makes Arthur laugh just as Merlin surfaces, grinning shakily. What follows is a series of attempts to pull each other underwater and other very immature things that Arthur hasn’t done since he was about thirteen and he wonders why he hasn’t. He laughs brightly, swearing revenge as Gwaine pushes him under and holds him there. It’s only when they’re too exhausted to push each other around that Gwaine swims to the edge, fetching the bottle of alcohol that Arthur left for them. Swimming to the edge, Arthur leans back against the tiles and lets himself float in the warm water, watching Merlin for an indulgent moment as Merlin swims towards them. The mop of dark hair is wet and slick against Merlin’s forehead and water is dripping from his lashes, down into the hollow below his cheekbones. His neck is long and rather inviting and Arthur follows it with his eyes until he finds sharp collarbones that he remembers kissing lovingly, but also nipping playfully and nuzzling comfortably into. 

“Here, mate,” Gwaine says breaking through his daze and Arthur accepts the opened bottle, taking a mouthful of whiskey and letting it burn down his throat before passing it to Merlin. 

The bottle makes the rounds a few more times and Arthur’s mind feels comfortably fuzzy, the filters to his mouth disappearing one by one and he thinks it might be a bad idea – all of this. But then he doesn’t care, because if Merlin asked him again now if he’s happy, he’d say yes. 

“I’m glad you’re forcing me to do these things, Gwaine,” he says, earnestly, before he can change his mind. “I feel like... I never got to do things like these.”

“You’re thanking Gwaine for making you break the law,” Merlin says, shaking his head. 

“Of course he is.” Gwaine dips lower in the water. “I like you, Pendragon.”

Merlin raises an eyebrow at them. “I guess it’s a bit overdue that you get the Gwaine experience.”

“So, has your life just been serious business then?” Gwaine asks grabbing the bottle after Arthur’s taken another mouthful. 

Arthur grimaces. “I suppose you can say that,” he mutters, the truth of his words burning in his throat as they spill out. “Had some tough years before I came out to my dad and after that I felt like I had to prove to him that I could be what he wanted me to be.”

Gwaine’s hand is on his shoulder then and his eyes are earnest, if a bit clouded by the alcohol. He gives the bottle back as if deciding that Arthur needs it more. “That’s depressing.”

“Yeah.” Arthur laughs a bit hollowly. “When I came out he went mental. Said all sorts of terrible things and then refused to talk to me for ages until Morgana went and yelled at him. Then he threw me a coming out party.”

The other two stare at him in what looks like a mix of horror and pity. 

“ _Your father_ threw you a coming out party.” Merlin sounds as if someone’s just told him the Queen is an alien. 

Arthur nods and then laughs a bit. “It’s the most awkward thing I’ve ever experienced in my life. It was this whole socialite thing. Like a debutant ball, except no one knew whether to congratulate me or pass on their condolences.”

“That’s,” Merlin pauses and frowns, “terrible. I think I’ll go with terrible.”

“Fuck,” Gwaine says. “That’s messed up.”

Arthur grimaces and they fall silent until his fuzzy mind catches up with him and he lets out an indignant sound. “Why am I the only one who ends up spilling embarrassing shite at these things? I think it’s time for someone else to dish.”

“Christ. Well, I guess it’s only fair,” Gwaine says, frowning. “Okay, well. I’m not an easily embarrassed man, as you may know.”

“Really,” Arthur deadpans and Merlin laugh comes out in a gust of breath. 

“I poured my heart out to a girl once, though, in a letter that she read out loud to everyone at the party, which was a dick move.” Gwaine takes the bottle back, as if deciding that whoever’s telling a story should probably have the support of alcohol. “I guess I found out fast enough that she wasn’t anyone to go for.”

“Good riddance,” Arthur says and Merlin nods in silent agreement. 

“Merlin, you’re up,” Gwaine says, passing the bottle along. 

Merlin squirms and bites his lip, looking worried. “I think I have too many things to choose from.”

“Yeah, welcome to the club,” Arthur blurts, making Gwaine smirk. 

The water rustles calmly around them as Merlin looks out across the pool, the other two waiting in silence for him to continue. 

“I tried to find my dad, the second year of uni.”

Arthur’s head snaps up and looks at the taut line of Merlin’s jaw, pushing back the urge to reach out and pull Merlin into a hug. 

Merlin doesn’t look at either of them as he gnaws on his lip. 

“I found him, but he didn’t want to talk to me. He’s got this whole other life that I don’t fit into.”

“You never told me. You didn’t tell Lance either?”

“No, I... I wanted to deal with it alone.”

Arthur thinks back to some of the nights in the guest house when they’d fall back onto the bed, entwined in sheets and entangled in each other. They’d talk about what they wanted out of life, what they wanted to be and what they wanted to do. Arthur would talk about the mother he never knew and Merlin would share his secret dream to know his father. And Arthur aches, remembering the wistful expression on Merlin’s face as he talked about it. 

“I’m sorry,” Arthur says, genuinely. They share a look and Arthur has to look away. “I guess life did a number on all of us.”

Merlin gives a wry smile. “I guess so.” 

They all look out across the pool in silence for a few moments, but being serious has never quite been Gwaine’s forte. 

“At least he never threw you a coming out party,” Gwaine says and ducks as Arthur attempts to push him down into the water. 

“Fuck you, Gwaine,” Merlin says, but he gives a quick laugh that fades into a grin. 

After that they stumble drunkenly from the water, pulling their clothes over their still-damp bodies and hurry away from the scene of the crime. Laughing giddily from the adrenaline rush of having done something they shouldn’t, they find an open chippy and huddle together in a booth until morning.

***

“You look like death.”

Arthur looks up from his lunch. “Good day to you too, Morgana.”

“What happened to you?” she asks, sitting down opposite him, wrapping her long fingers around her bottled water. 

“Gwaine.”

She laughs. “Ah, well. That does explain it.”

“Hngh.”

“You should know better than this,” she says, smirking. “But it’s probably about time you had some fun.”

“I had a bit too much fun,” Arthur says, chewing slowly as he presses the heel of his hand to his temple. “Bloody Gwaine.”

“At least you weren’t arrested.”

“You have no idea how close I came,” he admits, breaking out into a smile at the thought. 

Getting out her lunch, Morgana pauses and looks at him. “That would’ve been an interesting call to Uther.”

“Don’t remind me.”

They fall silent for a while, both focusing on getting food down before they have to go back to work as the next few days are pretty intense and with a lot of work to be done before the campaign is launched. Arthur briefly thinks of Merlin’s pictures and wonders if Morgana’s seen them, but he doesn’t ask. 

“You’re going to that conference this weekend, aren’t you?” Morgana asks between mouthfuls and he nods. 

“Yeah, I tried to get out of it, but Owain can’t go.”

“Shame, I think Gwaine had plans for you.”

He breaks out laughing, ignoring the sharp pain in his head. “Maybe the conference sounds like a good idea after all.”

She smiles crookedly. “Quite.” 

The display of Arthur’s phone lights up and he picks it up, frowning at the display. There’s a text from _giraffeslovewhiskey_. What on earth. 

_Put my number into your phone last night, hope you don’t mind. –M._

He fights the smile, but it forces its way onto his face anyway. One can say he doesn’t mind. 

_Not at all. Interesting name._

_Well, it was 6 AM and also whiskey._

Arthur grins, shaking his head and looks up to find Morgana looking at him quizzically. 

“Cenred?” she asks, twirling her water bottle on the table. 

“What? No, I ended things with Cenred. Weeks ago.”

“And you didn’t even tell me?” she says, her tone accusing. 

He waves his hand dismissively. “It was never that serious with him, you know that.”

She pauses and looks at him. “If you say so.”

There’s a brief moment where Morgana looks so worried about him that his heart clenches a bit. He knows that for all their differences and all their teasing, she’s the one person who has always cared what happens to him – even when he acted like an arse. His father tries these days, but it’s always so misguided and dysfunctional. And Arthur isn’t likely to forget that Morgana was the only one who stood by him in those couple of years after Merlin exited the stage.

“Are you really alright, Arthur?”

He doesn’t have to ask to know that she’s referring to the unfortunate crying incident a while back, and that makes him want to wince. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. I am.”

“It’s just that...” Morgana bites her lip and looks uncharacteristically uncertain, “we both know you’d still be seeing Cenred if Merlin wasn’t here.”

Arthur picks at his food, finding it hard to refute that with anything. 

“Look, it’s not like Cenred and I were engaged. We had a thing and it was nice, but I’ve always known it wasn’t forever. And now I just don’t want it anymore.”

“If you’re sure,” Morgana says and when he nods, she changes course. “Okay. Gwen says the pictures came out great and her design team is working on the posters. We’ve got the new products lined up as well, I just need to present them to Uther for his approval and it will all be a go in a couple of weeks.”

“Great, bring the products to me after you’ve talked to Uther and my team will look at the pricing, yeah?”

Morgana nods and she moves to stand as Kay from her team waves at her from across the room. 

“Seems the team can’t handle a simple lunch break without me,” she says, rolling her eyes. Arthur grins at her and bids her goodbye, but she lingers by the table looking conflicted. That probably means he won’t like what she has to say, so he rather hopes she’ll just leave. She doesn’t. “You know. Gwen says the best picture of Merlin is the first one you took.”

Oh, bugger.

“What?” He says, trying so very, very hard not to blush. “I’m not a photographer. That makes no sense.”

“I don’t think it’s because of your superior photography skills,” she says, looking at him sternly. “I rather think it has more to do with the connection between you and Merlin that everyone within a fifty mile radius can see.”

“It still makes no sense,” he mutters, picking at his lunch. 

“It’s because Merlin’s comfortable being himself around you,” she says, exasperated. “Whatever it is with you and Merlin, I swear Gwen and I won’t get involved anymore. We learned that lesson the hard way. But you need to seriously think about what this is or isn’t. You’re willing to give up on romantic relationships because of Merlin – and don’t pretend you didn’t give up Cenred because Merlin showed up. Clearly, there is something between you and you should work it out one way or another before it ends in heartbreak.”

It’s a little late for that and it’s not funny, not really, but Arthur has an odd urge to laugh anyway. Morgana’s advice is about nine years too late, but then again Arthur has to wonder if time might be circular and just maybe the advice applies for right now too. Arthur has always assumed his heart can’t really be broken when it already is, but he realises that was probably a stupid assumption. 

“Yeah, I know,” he admits, shrugging. 

Morgana ruffles his hair when she walks past. He stares into his salad and picks at it, wondering if this whole Merlin thing is the universe terrorising him for past mistakes or giving him a chance to correct them.

***

Arthur rather hates conferences. Flopping back on the hotel bed, he groans and loosens his tie. His head is buzzing slightly from the couple of drinks he had at dinner, but also from the overload of information from the entire afternoon. The endless meetings just always drive him kind of insane and he hates being expected to socialise with strangers after a long day. It’s just not his thing at all. Though, in all honesty, he’s just glad this one is right outside London and all he had to do was get on a bus instead of fly to Tokyo like last time.

The hotel room is quiet and Arthur grabs the remote from the nightstand, putting the TV on just for some background noise. It’s just exhausting how quiet it is, because Arthur’s thoughts always seem to get louder to compensate for silence. It’s very impractical. 

He looks at his phone, having a staring contest with it for a few moments before he gives in and reaches for it, running his finger down the contact list. It’s such a bad idea, but he can’t shake it. It’s a quiet hotel room, he feels kind of lonely and glum, and the only person he wants to speak to is Merlin. He thinks that probably speaks volumes about, well, everything, but he doesn’t want to think about that. 

It rings three times before Merlin answers and Arthur is almost surprised to hear the voice in the other end. He had kind of expected to be sent to voice mail, but Merlin is definitely there and maybe Arthur should answer because Merlin’s saying his name over and over in increasingly questioning tones. 

“Yeah, hi,” Arthur says, feeling awkward now that he’s given in to the urge. He mutes the TV as he waits for Merlin’s reply.

“Aren’t you at that work thing?” 

Arthur groans. “Finished for the day. It’s more of a torture thing than a work thing.”

“Yeah, I’m sure it’s terrible,” Merlin says dryly. “Free food and a huge hotel room.”

Well. That did make Arthur sound like an arse for complaining, but he wasn’t quite ready to give it up. 

“Empty hotel room, though,” he says, even if it makes him feel vulnerable. 

“What, you expect them to provide you with your sleazy hook ups too? That’s just lazy, Arthur.”

“Bloody ha ha.”

Merlin laughs softly, but stops making fun of Arthur’s complaining. Instead, there’s a moment of silence stretched between them and it’s filled with the significance of Arthur having called him from his two day business trip. It really is kind of appalling that he can’t even go that long without speaking to Merlin. 

“Look,” Arthur says, staring up into the ceiling. “I know you didn’t want to talk about... us. Before. But...”

Merlin interrupts him before he can finish his thought. “I know I said I didn’t. But I think I kind of do.”

Arthur’s heart skips slightly and his breath catches in his throat. “Really?”

“When I said it’s a closed wound, I wasn’t lying,” Merlin says, and Arthur burrows his cheek into the pillow feeling very relieved that no one can see him. “I spent a lot of time being really angry at you, but I got over that. You need to get over it too and that’s why I think we really need to talk.”

It’s true that Arthur has wanted to talk things through since they met, really, but now that they are he doesn’t really know what to say. He doesn’t know at all how to put his thoughts into words that make sense to another human being. 

“You’re really angry at yourself, Arthur, and you shouldn’t be. I appreciate the apologies, but it was never about me personally. You were having a hard time coming to terms with yourself and I was just caught in the middle of it.”

Arthur breathes. He breathes a lot and deeply, letting the words wash over him. 

“It wasn’t fair to you, though,” he says weakly. “I put you through all the secrets and my insecurities just because I couldn’t be honest with myself.”

It’s almost as if he can hear Merlin thinking at the other end and he suddenly wishes they’d done this face to face, but then again he’s also exceedingly happy that no one can see him wincing into the covers on the hotel bed. 

Merlin sounds almost as affected as Arthur when he begins speaking again. “There’s one thing I learned at university that helped me get over my anger, and that’s the fact that no one’s story is the same. I always assumed that just because I always knew and accepted that I was gay, everyone else should be the same way. That’s not how it is. A lot of people struggle with coming out and there’s no shame in that.”

Oh God. Arthur is going to do something embarrassing again, like cry. 

“I felt like... like I treated you as if you weren’t worth coming out for,” he says, his voice strangled. “And that’s so far from true, Merlin, I swear to Morgana’s fuzzy slippers.”

“Oh, Arthur.”

Arthur doesn’t have it in him to answer and they slip into another stretch of silence. He doesn’t know what Merlin’s doing, but Arthur’s thinking of old memories that have been collecting the grime of pain and regret with time, but he kind of thinks that if he cleans them up they might even be happy. 

“You’ve apologised to me, and... and I appreciate that, because yeah, I spent a lot of time wanting one,” Merlin says, his voice slipping into Arthur’s haze of memories, “but I think I should say sorry too. Because I never realised how difficult it was for you and I never gave you any help in trying to deal with it, I just kind of pushed you. And I’m sorry. I really am.”

Arthur presses the heel of his hand to his temple and sighs. “We’re such a pair of idiots, aren’t we?”

Merlin’s laugh feels light and airy, cutting through the heavy mood. “Yeah, we kind of are. But we were eighteen and secret gay lovers. It probably could’ve been worse, actually.”

“I don’t know,” Arthur says, pursing his lips. “I think we topped it off by pretending we don’t even know each other.”

“Fuck, don’t remind me.”

“Morgana will have my balls on a plate.”

“Yeah, you’re screwed, mate.”

They both laugh and Arthur stretches out on the bed, wondering how they’re even going to begin to explain all of this to their friends. 

“Arthur?”

He hums in reply, idly wondering if Merlin is watching the giraffe figurine. 

“I’m really proud of you, you know,” Merlin says softly. 

Arthur closes his eyes and for a moment he fears he might have fallen asleep and dreamt the last bit of conversation. He smiles widely at the empty room. 

“Sod this,” he says suddenly, sitting up so quickly he’s faintly dizzy. “Are you home?”

“Yeah, but what -”

“Merlin.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m going to hug you now,” Arthur says gravely, jumping up from the bed and packing the few things he’s got laying around into his open suitcase. 

“Now?”

“Well, in about an hour. There’s a bus ride and a walk in the way.”

“Arthur, you’re mental. Don’t you have a meeting in the morning?”

“Well, screw that,” Arthur says forcefully. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

If Uther finds out he skipped the meeting, he’ll probably be in a great deal of trouble but he doesn’t really care. Instead, he grabs his overnight suitcase and gets the last bus back to London, spending the time thinking about things like forgiveness, anger, guilt and letting go. Arthur knows Merlin hasn’t actually professed his undying love for him or anything, but Arthur thinks he can probably live with anything that isn’t hate or indifference. He doesn’t know if Merlin thinks their romantic involvement is better left in the past, but it’s not like they can bring everything up at once either. Arthur is quite overwhelmed enough as it is, what with the realisation that not only is Merlin not angry at him, but he’s actually _proud_ of him. 

When Arthur gets of the bus at the station, Merlin is standing there with his hands buried in his pockets and his hair wet from the rain. 

“I think I was promised a hug,” he says, smiling crookedly. 

Arthur drops his suitcase and smiles back before pulling Merlin against him, burying his face shamelessly into Merlin’s neck. He inhales deeply; closing is eyes to the familiar scent of his skin. Merlin’s hands are warm against his back and he catalogues this moment into the back of his mind, hoping he’ll always remember how he feels right now: relieved, cherished, warm, happy. 

When Arthur finally releases Merlin from his death grip, he bends down and grabs his suitcase, feeling a bit like he can take on the entire world and win. 

“So, does Gwaine have any alcohol?” he asks as they walk side by side down the street.

Merlin looks at him out of the corner of his eyes. “Is rain wet?”

***

“You’re so full of shite, Gwaine,” Leon says, rolling his eyes. “You did _not_ shag a Jonas brother. Would that even be legal?”

“Hey, he wanted the British experience, you know. And who am I to deny people the British experience?” Gwaine wags his eyebrows suggestively. “I even played up the whole accent thing.”

“Why am I friends with you again?” Leon rests his head in his hand and looks a bit forlorn. 

“A little bit because of Lance, but mostly because I’m just that fantastic.”

Leon sighs. “Well, if I have to suffer, the least you can do is be my wingman tonight.”

Gwaine perks up and smirks, rubbing his hands together in glee. “It’s on, mate.”

Sharing an amused look with Merlin who sits right across from him, Arthur decides to stay very far away from Leon and Gwaine’s attempts at luring in the ladies tonight, because that partnership just sounds like a really horrible idea. When Gwaine starts outlining his plans for the night, it seems like an even worse idea and Merlin looks vaguely horrified. Attention is suddenly called away from Gwaine’s fairly perverted plans and Merlin shrinks into his seat because he’s the actual centre of attention tonight whether he likes it or not. 

“I’d like to toast Merlin,” Morgana says, beaming at all of them seated around the table in the still fairly quiet pub, “who stepped up to do us all a favour and became the star of the new Camelot campaign.”

“To Merlin,” Gwaine exclaims and the rest chime in, making Merlin blush. 

“I know you’re all dying to see the results,” Gwen says, appearing behind Morgana with a large poster in her hand, the back of it facing the group. 

“Oh, please, no.” Merlin groans and covers his face with his hands. “Please, no.”

“You do realise these are going to be all over the city, right?” Arthur asks with a raised eyebrow. 

“Can I take it back?”

“I think Uther might kill you.”

“I could probably live with that.”

Elena puts a comforting hand on Merlin’s shoulder from her seat next to him. “Don’t sell yourself short, Merlin. If it was terrible, they wouldn’t be using it.”

“Merlin,” Gwen says mildly. “I promise you it looks great. We’re toasting you, aren’t we? If it was bad, I’d be trying to jump out the window from my office considering how much I went over budget.”

“How did you even manage going over budget when Merlin did it for free and we had the shoot at the office?” Arthur asks for the umpteenth time and throws his arms out, but everyone ignores him and stares expectedly at Gwen instead. 

“Come on, then,” Lance says, nudging her. “We’re all waiting for Merlin’s life work here.”

Gwen beams and flips the poster in her hands, showing Merlin looking exactly like the poster boy of a university kid they were going for. Arthur instinctively knows this one is the shot he took, which still strikes him as pretty ridiculous. Why did they even hire a photographer? If he’d done the entire thing himself, they might even be on budget. 

There are catcalls (mostly from Gwaine), applause (Morgana is enthusiastic) and excited murmurs as everyone cranes their neck to see the picture. Arthur is biased, of course, but Merlin looks pretty fantastic with those ridiculous cheekbones of his. Elena and Freya both squeal a little (and so does Leon, and he doesn’t even hide it), but Merlin himself still hasn’t even seen it since he keeps hiding behind his hands. 

It’s only when Gwaine and Elena wrestles his hands way from his face that he’s forced to look at it and he groans, looking pained. Arthur doesn’t really think he’s as mortified as he pretends to be. 

“This is brilliant, right?” Morgana asks, beaming. 

Naturally, everyone agrees and Gwen puts the poster into its own honorary seat by the table to Merlin’s ardent protests. 

“Cheers,” Leon says, holding his glass of beer out to Merlin. “You did an amazing job.”

“Oh, believe me,” Merlin says, pursing his lips. “It was mostly Arthur.”

Arthur shakes his head wildly. “Shut up, _Mer_ lin.”

“This is the picture Arthur took, you know,” Gwen says, making Arthur want to climb under the table. “We couldn’t credit him, of course, or the photographer would have killed us. But still.”

Meeting Merlin’s eyes, Arthur feels slightly awkward under the obvious scrutiny from their friends. Arthur reaches up to rub his hand against the back of his neck and drops his gaze to stare into his beer with great interest. 

“Anyway,” Morgana says quickly, clapping her hands. “I say we have another toast to Merlin for being a life saver and a brilliant model for Camelot.”

The loud shouts of “to Merlin!” sound across the table as glasses clink together and Arthur thinks Merlin may look just the tiny bit pleased as he keeps glancing over at the poster when he thinks no one’s looking. Grinning cheekily, Arthur nudges Merlin under the table with his toes tapping lightly against Merlin’s ankle. 

“Maybe it’s time for a career change?” Arthur asks when Merlin looks at him with an eyebrow raised in question. 

“Yeah, sounds excellent,” Merlin says, rolling his eyes. “You’ll just have to quit your job too, then, and follow me to all my photo-shoots.”

“Oh, come on.” Arthur laughs. “If I go with you, they’ll just want me instead. You’d be out of a job in no time.”

“Oh ho!” Gwaine exclaims, giving a sound that can only be described as cackling. “Pendragon goes for the throat.”

Merlin looks less impressed, but his lip is curled into a small, teasing smile. “Oh, Arthur. You know models have to look good on camera, right? You’re probably the least photogenic person on earth.”

“Am not,” Arthur says, pouting ridiculously. Obviously, Merlin is right but Arthur isn’t about to give in that easily. “I look amazing in pictures. I’ve gotten plenty of offers to model, thank you!”

“What?” Merlin exclaims, laughing incredulously. “In that portrait of you over the mantelpiece, you look like the slouchy, cross-eyed cousin of Arthur Pendragon and not actually anything like _you_.”

Arthur is about to reply very indignantly, but he suddenly notices that Morgana’s corner of the table has gone very quiet and for a split second he meets Merlin’s widening eyes before Morgana launches out of her chair and points at Merlin, her eyes round and incredulous. 

“How do you know?” she cries, waving her finger at Merlin. 

“Morgana?” Gwen asks carefully, placing her hand gently on Morgana’s arm. 

“Merlin,” Morgana says in her most menacing voice and Arthur would lie if he said he didn’t have chills running down his spine. “How do you know about the portrait in _the guest house at the Pendragon estate_?”

“I –”

“Took him there. I was visiting dad,” Arthur lies, hoping that he doesn’t look as flustered as he feels. 

“Since when do you ever visit Uther?” Leon asks, frowning at him. “We had to drag you there kicking and screaming for his birthday a few months back.”

“Arthur,” Merlin says with force, looking at him very intently. 

The intention of Merlin’s tone makes Arthur slouch forwards, waiting for the inevitable backlash. Merlin is right, though. They’d slipped up and been caught red-handed, there isn’t anything to gain from lying any further.

“Fine,” Arthur says through gritted teeth and he feels the heaviness of every confused glance on him. 

Merlin clears his throat and looks decidedly uncomfortable as he keeps looking between all of their friends – the friends they’d been outright lying to for weeks and implicitly lying to for years, if one counts withholding information deliberately as a form of lying. 

“Arthur and I knew each other already,” Merlin says, grimacing a bit at the admission. 

It’s Lance who breaks the silence first with a simple “what?” that is reflected in every one of their faces. 

“We hadn’t been in contact for years,” Merlin clarifies hastily, fiddling with the hem of his jumper. “We played football together when we were eighteen, though.”

“That makes no sense.” Morgana looks between the two of them with narrowed eyes. “There’s no reason why you’d keep that from us.”

“I didn’t say that was _all_ we did,” Merlin mutters, trying to avoid the gaze of absolutely everyone in the room, which incidentally is what Arthur is doing as well. 

“So you lied to us for weeks, then?” Gwen asks, sounding hurt in a way that makes Arthur feel really horrible. 

“We’re sorry,” he interjects, looking at all of them in turn. “It’s just really complicated and when he was suddenly there in Gwen’s living room I didn’t want everyone to know we knew each other, and then we just never found a way to bring it up.”

“You’re hiding something,” Morgana accuses, shaking her finger in their direction again. “Something else.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Merlin says, all sense of patience gone from his expression and he tenses up and stares at them all defiantly. “We were fucking. A lot. There was a lot of teenage angst and fucking.”

At that, Morgana promptly falls back into her seat and snaps her mouth shut. Arthur sinks down until his head meets the table and he doesn’t have to look at any of their shocked faces anymore. 

“ _Mer_ lin,” he says into the table.

“I...what?” Morgana says weakly. “But I’ve never met you before?”

“That was rather the point.” Merlin shrugs and smiles sadly. “It was always a secret. It wasn’t...Arthur wasn’t...”

He doesn’t seem to be able to finish the sentence and Arthur groans into the table. 

“I was messed up. Is this news to anyone anymore?” he says, desperately not wanting to have this conversation. He looks up from the table and leans his head against his hand. “I said it was complicated, didn’t I? Not to mention really sodding personal, which is quite frankly why I ended up never saying anything and –“

“Hey. Hey, mate,” Gwaine interrupts. “You don’t have to explain your business to all of us.”

“Speak for yourself, Gwaine!” Morgana snaps, her arms crossing angrily over her chest. 

Lance puts a hand on her arm briefly. “Morgana, I don’t think anyone thinks it’s all brilliant that they lied to us, but it _is_ their own business.”

“Oh, fine,” she says, her voice clipped and angry. “Let’s just gloss over how they both lied to us for shits and giggles. Bloody brilliant.”

She takes off, leaving the table with an awkward silence after her outburst and Gwen looks after her with large, worried eyes, gnawing at her lower lip as she seems to debate what to do. 

“It was never about you guys,” Merlin says, looking almost on the verge of tears and Arthur nudges him softly under the table. “It’s just... Neither of us was prepared to see the other one and the lie just kind of happened. We didn’t know if the other one was still angry or upset and it was all a bit of a mess.”

“I can’t speak for anyone else,” Elena says, putting a hand on Merlin’s shoulder, “but I completely understand. We all have complicated relationships in our lives.”

Merlin looks at her with so much relief that she only smiles softly in return.

“We’ll have some words later,” Gwaine says. “I get it, but we’ll have words. A lot of words.”

At the other end of the table, Gwen stands up with a distressed expression on her face. “Look guys, I’m going to go after Morgana.”

“No,” Arthur says, rising from his seat. “Please let me talk to her.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” 

“No,” he says honestly, laughing a bit. “But I should go anyway.”

Gwen relents, but it may only be because Lance has an arm around her shoulder as he pulls her down back into her seat. Determined, Arthur goes to find Morgana after having sent a brief, reassuring look at Merlin. At least he hopes it was reassuring, he can’t be quite sure. At this point it may have been both panicked and flustered, because he’s feeling both of those things. This isn’t at all how he’d planned to tell Morgana, because she deserves a lot better. 

He finds her outside, leaning against the wall some steps away from the front entrance of the pub. Her arms are wrapped around her small frame and she’s staring out into the dark night, her lashes wet with tears and he feels like kicking himself from the roof of a tall building for making her cry. 

“Sod off,” she says, her voice breaking slightly. 

“I’m so sorry,” he says, knowing it’s not enough as soon as he says it. 

“A fucking decade, Arthur. You’ve lied to me for a fucking decade.”

“Not really,” he says, and the murderous look she fixes him lets him know it’s the wrong thing to say. “You’re the first one I came out to. I just never talked about Merlin specifically, but it didn’t feel natural to do that. We ended because I was a coward and hid him away, and by the time I came out he was out of my life.”

“So during all those nights where you curled up into my lap and cried, you didn’t think it relevant to tell me that you’d met a guy that you messed things up with?” Her eyes brim with tears. “Because that’s really fucking relevant, Arthur.”

“I’m not going to deny that I was selfish. You deserved to know, considering you alone held me together at the time, but I didn’t know how to talk about it. I fucked things up so badly, I just didn’t have it in me to talk.”

“After everything that I did for you, you didn’t trust me,” she says, letting out a rattling breath. “And that’s what it comes down to.”

“Morgana, no. It’s not about any of you; it’s about my own stupid issues.”

She looks at him, her jaw set tightly.

“I can’t believe you hid something so huge from me after everything we’ve been through.”

He leans heavily against the wall and looks at her, feeling pained at the way she seems to hunch in on herself. It’s strange how they work. They’ve always protected each other and when it became apparent to Arthur that he would never be what his father wanted for him, he found Morgana to be the only true support in his life. Neither of them has much of a relationship with Uther and they don’t know their respective mothers. They have no close aunts or uncles or cousins. For all intents and purposes, family is the two of them. Arthur has always needed Morgana and Morgana has always needed to be needed. 

“If I could turn back time and do it all over again, I would change so many things,” he says softly. “You have no idea.”

Morgana pushes away from the wall. “Unfortunately for you, Arthur, this isn’t Doctor Who. Tell the others I went home.”

He lets her walk in the direction of the underground station without calling her name or attempting to stop her, but he slips back inside the pub and grabs his things, apologising for leaving them all there. He knows he has to follow her home.

***

Merlin’s hair is ruffled from sleep when he opens the door, his eyes bleary and squinting against the harsh light in the hallway.

“Arthur?” he asks in confusion, opening the door wider. 

“Sorry for showing up so late,” Arthur says as he slips inside, running a hand through his soaked hair. “I would’ve called but my battery’s dead.”

“You look like a drowned cat.”

“I stood outside Morgana’s for three hours.”

Merlin looks at him, frowning. “Again? Didn’t you get enough of that yesterday?” 

Arthur shrugs, not really knowing how to explain. 

“It’s important,” is all he can manage to say about it and he pauses, looking at Merlin who looks rather ridiculously adorable with sweatpants hanging low on his hips and a fitted, black t-shirt clinging to his shape. “Do you mind if I stick around?”

“Not at all,” Merlin says, locking the door behind Arthur. “Gwaine’s out cold, so if we stay in my room and keep quiet, we probably won’t disturb him.”

Arthur hangs up his coat and follows Merlin to the first door on the left, trying his best not wake Gwaine who’d been out all night yesterday with Leon and probably needed his beauty sleep. The bedroom is small, but it doesn’t really matter because all Arthur needs is a corner to curl up into and a place to not be alone. 

Merlin flops back on the bed, splaying out like a starfish on top of what looks like a homemade quilt. 

“You’re soaked,” Merlin observes. “If you want to take a shower, I have a spare change of clothes. I can't promise they'll fit, but the offer's there.”

Arthur is about to protest, but he can feel the cold settling in under his skin and a warm shower does sound pretty good. He accepts the offer and lets the (mostly) warm water in Gwaine and Merlin’s tiny shower wash away some of the frustration that has settled in him since yesterday’s fallout with Morgana. His shoulders feel less tense as he stands under the heavy stream, rolling his neck experimentally. He probably shouldn’t have shown up like this at 1 AM, but he just couldn’t deal with the thought of going home to an empty flat to spend the night thinking about Morgana. 

When he slips back into the room with a towel wrapped around himself Merlin is on the bed snoring softly and his arms are flung out to either side. At the bottom of the bed there’s a change of clothes and Arthur smiles fondly as Merlin gives another snore, shifting slightly. Merlin’s sweatpants are a little tight for him, but they do the job. The t-shirt is a lost cause, though, and he abandons it all together before he climbs carefully up onto the bed, curling up on his side facing Merlin. Merlin stretches and opens his eyes, looking confused for a moment before he smiles dazedly. 

“Sorry,” Arthur whispers, not really knowing why he does. “I didn’t mean to wake you again.”

“S’ok.” Merlin curls up on his side as well, pulling his knees up and resting his head on his arm. “Still no luck with Morgana?”

Arthur shakes his head and can’t quite bite back the sigh. 

“D’you know why she’s upset?” Merlin asks, his voice a bit slurred by sleep. 

“It’s not about you,” Arthur says quickly, shrugging a bit. “It’s just... She’s my family, you know? And in terms of family, I’m what she’s got too. She’s supported me all along and for ages she had the very uncomfortable job of being the buffer between me and dad. She’s disappointed that I didn’t tell her something that’s obviously important to me.”

Merlin hums, his eyelids looking heavy as he blinks slowly. “I can understand that.”

“She has every right to be upset. I should probably just let her be until she’s over it,” Arthur says, pursing his lips. “I just feel like I should make it right somehow, but I guess I can’t.”

“Probably not. What’s done is done and all.”

“I feel bad for not trusting her with it after all she’s done for me, though.”

“It’s not about trust,” Merlin says, his eyes slipping shut. “It’s about being ready to let things out of your own head. She’ll understand that when she gets some distance from it.”

The bed is soft and warm, making Arthur snuggle into it. When he breathes in, it smells of Merlin and he smiles.  
“You need to stop thinking every conflict is only your fault, Arthur.” Merlin is watching at him, looking very awake all of a sudden. “Yeah, sometimes you’re a bit of a prat, but other people are at fault too. And sometimes there are misunderstandings. There are several sides and perspectives and you don’t have to put everything on your own shoulders.”

Arthur sighs and buries his face into the covers for a moment. “I just... I’m afraid of pushing people away. I hate arguments because I always feel like that’s the last step before they take off.”

They look at each other and Arthur doesn’t force himself to look away. Instead, he holds Merlin’s gaze and studies his soft, sleepy features in the dim light. Arthur always thinks his thoughts sound so ridiculous when he voices them out loud, not to mention that it makes him feel ridiculously vulnerable to actually tell other people how he feels. 

“I can understand that,” Merlin says, barely above a whisper. “But thinking you can fix everything by blaming yourself isn’t good for you. It doesn’t actually fix anything, and it probably won’t even keep people from leaving if that’s what they want to do.”

Arthur looks down at his hands and swallows, taking a moment to taste the raw fear he feels just at the thought of people leaving him. The quiet stretches out between them and he thinks about how much time he’s spent thinking about Merlin and blaming himself over the past nine years. 

“Maybe I should talk to someone sometime,” he says, closing his eyes briefly. “To a therapist, I mean.”

Merlin’s voice is soft when he answers. “Yeah. Yeah, I think that’s a good idea.”

They both smile and Arthur feels heavy and drowsy, sleep beckoning him to put his head down and rest. 

“Sometimes I get panic attacks when I think about making choices,” Merlin says suddenly, breaking through the sleepy haze that’s enveloping Arthur. 

Arthur hums, opening his eyes to look at Merlin questioningly. 

“I think about all the times I’ve made horrible choices and I start to panic. You’re not the only one who’s a bit damaged, you know that right?” 

Nodding, Arthur reaches up and pushes the pillow in under his cheek. It feels cool and comforting. 

“Sleep,” he mutters. 

It’s the last thing he remembers before he’s awakened by something pressing against his ribs. As he grows steadily more aware of his surroundings, he notices that he’s entwined in something and it’s really extraordinarily warm. When he cracks one eye open, he finds Merlin curled into him like a kitten. 

“Sorry I woke you,” Merlin says his voice gruff with sleep. “I was kind of trying to untangle myself, but it didn’t work very well.”

Arthur stretches, feeling Merlin’s lean body against him as he does so and a lazy smile moves across his face. “Is it morning?” 

Merlin turns a bit to the side and cranes his neck to find his alarm clock. Curling back into Arthur, he gives a small huff of laughter. “It’s only a quarter to three.”

The haze of sleep clears from his mind and Arthur grows ridiculously aware of how Merlin’s arm is draped across his bare stomach and his breath ghosts across Arthur’s skin. He feels hyper-aware of the touch of Merlin’s fingertips against his ribs and the way Merlin is pressed up against him. His mouth feels dry and he takes a deep breath, mentally prodding at the feeling of longing that has been there since he first saw Merlin at Gwen’s place several weeks ago. 

“Merlin,” he says, wetting his lips nervously. 

“Hm?” 

“I’m... Do you think... Would it be weird if we...” He blushes as he searches for the right words, not really knowing where he was going with that sentence in the first place. 

Merlin pushes himself up on his elbow and looks up at Arthur, a smile playing on his lips. 

“You over think things a lot.”

“That is _not_ true, I will have you know that –”

Arthur is cut off by the soft press of Merlin’s lips and his head reels as he leans into the touch instinctively. The kiss makes his skin tingle with the rush of exhilaration that pulses through him and he smiles into the gentle touch, his entire being suddenly acutely aware that this is the first time he’s kissed Merlin in nearly a decade. It’s sweet and laced with nostalgia, like a distant memory that suddenly blooms to life with new details. 

“You talk too much too,” Merlin mutters. 

“You like it when I talk,” Arthur says, his fingers clutching into the back of Merlin’s shirt. “Admit it.”

“Sometimes there are better things to do with your mouth.”

The only reply Arthur can think of is to push Merlin onto his back and drape himself over Merlin’s lean body, burying his face into the long, tempting neck. He presses his lips to soft skin, kissing until he finds the spot where the pulse beats fast and heavy. Closing his eyes, he tastes Merlin’s skin indulgently, memorising the taste and scent of it and compares it to the memories that are already there. The thoughts mix in his head until he feels drunk with it, knowing that he’s actually feeling Merlin’s fingers clutching at his back and it’s real. 

It’s all real – the way Merlin gasps and exhales heavily, the way he drags Arthur up by his hair and kisses him until they’re both out of breath, the way it’s all skin to skin when their clothes are thrown aside in graceless motions. Arthur feels like drowning in the taste of Merlin, Merlin’s tongue being soft, but demanding and hot in his mouth. Rolling his hips, Arthur’s heart stutters as he slides against Merlin and they both stop for a split second, breath heavy as their eyes meet. There’s a dark, wrecked look in Merlin’s eyes that makes Arthur want to hide from the intensity of it. 

It’s surreal letting his hands explore Merlin’s skin, mapping out all the changes and filling in all the details he’s forgotten over the years. He remembers the scar on his right hip, but not the faint birthmark on his stomach. It’s like re-reading a favourite book: exploring all the favourite passages with a nostalgic smile and then discovering hidden gems that were never seen before. Arthur inhales deeply, feeling light-headed with the way Merlin invades all of his senses at once. When he takes Merlin into his mouth and the body under his hands arches up into him with a breathy moan, Arthur loses all coherent thoughts that may have been there. As he feels the velvety skin against his tongue and fingers tug desperately at his hair, his entire mind is filled with Merlin – everywhere and all-consuming. He closes his eyes and hums, feeling elated at Merlin’s ragged breathing and the way his fingers clutch desperately at Arthur’s back. 

When Arthur pushes Merlin down into the bed and enters him for the first time in nine years, he’s completely lost. There’s Merlin’s breath in his ear and Merlin’s hands digging into his shoulders and Merlin’s _amazing_ heat gripping him and pulling him in. Arthur buries his head into Merlin’s shoulder as they move together, releasing shuddering breaths into the crook of his neck. 

He wants this for the rest of his life. Maybe that should be a scary thought, but it isn’t really. He doesn’t say it out loud, however, because he figures it might not be the right time for declarations. Instead he just groans desperately and says _Merlin, Merlin, Merlin_ over and over when the tension breaks apart with a force that knocks the breath out of him.

***

Arthur wakes up reaching out for Merlin, but finds the bed empty. For a moment he feels a bit hollow and wonders if Merlin has taken off to escape the awkwardness of the morning after. He rests a hand to his forehead and stretches his somewhat aching limbs for a moment before he forces himself to get out from under the comfortable sheets.

His clothes have dried since he hung them up in the bathroom and he slips into them. The rest of the flat is empty as he passes through it, which only heightens his unease if he’s honest about it. It’s only when he peers back into the bedroom that he sees the giraffe figurine supporting a note that has nearly slipped off Merlin’s dresser. 

_Had an art class to teach at 10. Please make yourself at home. Anything in the fridge is up for grabs as long as Gwaine hasn’t put one of his ridiculous post-its on it. Talk to you later! – M._

Relief makes him break into a bit of a ridiculous smile and he heads into the kitchen, humming softly under his breath as he opens the fridge to find whatever he can get to eat. It amuses him that Merlin clearly wasn’t joking about Gwaine’s post-its and he avoids the things labelled “mine! –G” or “eat this and perish, Merlin”. He also finds Merlin’s phone charger and borrows it, just so he can check his messages. He has no illusions that Morgana has left one, but that doesn’t stop him from checking.

He’s leaning his hip against the kitchen table and munching on a piece of toast when Gwaine shuffles into the kitchen looking bleary-eyed and ruffled from sleep. Gwaine stops and stares at Arthur, his eyebrows arched in question. Arthur just shrugs. 

“Morning.”

Gwaine sighs and flops down in the nearest chair. “I guess I won’t ask.”

“Sounds good,” Arthur says, grinning. “I didn’t touch your stuff.”

“I’m glad you value your life.”

Arthur moves to the kitchen counter and grabs his phone, frowning at the distinct lack of texts or calls. He thinks about what Merlin said about not taking the blame for everything, but maybe he can reach out without apologising. Maybe he’ll lure her out. He bites into the toast and holds it in place with his teeth as he types off a quick message. 

_Shagged Merlin again. Thought you’d like to know._

He moves to sit by the kitchen table, watching as Gwaine finds his yoghurt and crumples the accompanying post-it before tossing it in the bin. 

“When’s Merlin done with art class today?” Arthur asks, taking the cup of tea Gwaine holds out to him. 

“Not until like two.” Gwaine flops back into his seat and looks uncharacteristically serious, but Arthur figures it’s too early in the morning for Gwaine to be, well, himself. “He’s got three groups today.”

“Right.” Arthur sips from his tea and thinks sticking around for that long would probably be overstaying his welcome. “I’ll head off once I’ve finished my tea, then.”

“Don’t be an arse,” Gwaine says, rolling his eyes. “You can stick around even if Merlin’s not here. Or is this too shabby for your snobbish tastes, Pendragon?”

Arthur laughs. “Oh, piss off.” 

Gwaine smirks and for the first time that morning he looks like himself. They both look up as Arthur’s phone beeps and Arthur is on his feet in a second, looking down at the display. It’s from Morgana, but it’s only a single word.

_Ew._

He lets out a guffaw of laughter at that, and even if it’s short and hardly a grand gesture of forgiveness, relief curls in his chest at the acknowledgment. Deciding to leave it unanswered, he briefly explains to Gwaine that he finally got an answer from Morgana and they drop the subject, eating their breakfast in silence. It’s not an uncomfortable one, at least not until they’re done eating and the silence stretches a bit awkwardly. 

“You didn’t ruin Leon’s good reputation the other night, right?” Arthur asks finally, smiling behind his tea. 

“His good reputation is intact,” Gwaine says, his foot resting over the edge of the kitchen table. “Not for my lack of trying, though. At one point I’m pretty sure I’d convinced two girls to go home with him at the same time.”

“And he didn’t?”

“Well, there’s the small detail of Leon having a huge schoolboy crush on your sister.”

Arthur pauses with his cup mid-air and looks at Gwaine, trying to slot that little bit of information into place. 

Gwaine winks. “You’re not the only one with secrets, Pendragon.”

“Clearly,” he says just as his phone beeps again and he abandons the subject of Leon’s crush on Morgana. 

He knows first-hand that some secrets are better left alone and he’s not going to be the one to pressure Leon into anything – especially not when Morgana’s involved, because that’s basically just a suicide mission. If it gets too bad, maybe he’ll point Gwen in the right direction. 

_Fine, I give up. Come over and tell me._

Arthur beams down at his phone and pulls it out of the charger, pocketing it. It has charged enough to survive the trip to Morgana’s in any case. 

“She has you so whipped.” Gwaine makes a sound-effect that sounds so practised that Arthur wonders if it’s Gwaine’s life mission to let everyone know when they’re too whipped. 

Arthur shrugs and smiles crookedly. “I’d like to see you defy her.”

“Please. I could crush Morgana with a fingernail.”

“I’ll let her know you said that.”

“Oh, can we not do that? I rather like my life.”

“Git,” Arthur says, laughing. “Thanks for breakfast. See you around.”

“Yeah, no problem, mate.” Gwaine drags himself out of the chair and shuffles towards the TV. “From now on, Merlin will have to deal with his own morning afters, though. I don’t do those unless I get the actual sex first.”

Arthur rolls his eyes, but waves goodbye to Gwaine (who waves back distractedly, his eyes on the TV) and writes a quick note to Merlin before heading out into the cold morning. The sun is still low on the horizon and it’s almost winter now, making the chill sharp in the morning air. By the time he reaches Morgana’s place he’s chilled to the bone and has made a mental note to get his winter coats out from the back of his closet. 

When he knocks on her door, all thoughts about the weather and coats are replaced by a slightly nauseating wave of nerves. He tries to think of his conversation with Merlin from yesterday to calm himself down and remind himself that he’s not the starting point of every issue in the known universe, but then his traitor thoughts turn to what happened _after_ the conversation and he’s slightly mortified by the thoughts he’s thinking when Morgana’s suddenly standing in front of him. His expression must have given away _something_ , because Morgana breaks out into laughter instead of greeting him, and he has to push his way past her to get inside. 

“You must’ve had some night,” she says, waggling her eyebrows in a way that makes him think of Gwaine and that’s disturbing. 

“I can leave again and just not tell you.” He shrugs his opened jacket back onto his shoulders, but she grabs it and pushes it off him. 

She looks serious when their eyes meet. “No, don’t do that.”

He lets her lead him into her living room and he looks around wearily for Morgause, who he really does not feel up for meeting today, but she doesn’t seem to be around. Thank the gods. There’s still no need to get completely relaxed, however, because Morgause does ambush attacks very well and he’ll need to be prepared. 

“Look, I’m not...” He takes a deep breath and sinks into the sofa. “I’m not going to apologise for not telling you. Any more than I already have, I mean.”

Bracing himself for Morgana’s temper, he sits back and watches her, wondering if defending himself goes into the realm of apologies too. 

“Okay,” she says, catching him off guard. “I’ve been thinking a lot and I understand, I think. As well as I can understand. Plus, it wasn’t only your secret to share, so let’s just not dwell on it, yeah?”

He can’t say he ever expected that. Morgana usually does dwelling on things very well, but he also knows that her temper sometimes gets the better of her and that the rest of her only catches up with it a while later. The third thing he knows is that admitting mistakes isn’t something she does a lot, so he lets himself soak in the moment for a bit.

“I’m a fan of no dwelling,” he says, curling one leg under himself on the sofa.

She smirks and pets his hand. “Good, because I was going to ask you about that little text.”

“Can I take that back?”

“Nope,” Morgana says gleefully, her eyes bright. 

“Okay, well, what do you want to know?” he asks, rubbing the back of his neck as he looks away from her. The words catch up with him and he blushes. “I claim the right to leave things unanswered.”

Morgana nibbles on a split fingernail as she looks at him thoughtfully. He feels a sudden rush of affection for her and has to stop himself from running his hand over her cheek like some kind of sap. 

“Did you miss him a lot?”

It’s hardly the question he expected, but that only puts him more off guard and his gaze drops to the seam on the armrest of the sofa. 

“Yeah,” he admits. “Yeah, I did.”

“Those couple years after you graduated make more sense now.”

He laughs, humourlessly. “I guess they do. We’d made plans, you know. We were going to go to the same university and everything would be different there, so I could stop hiding. I pretty much fucked it up.”

She smiles sadly and threads a hand through his hair. “You’ve been brave.”

“I really haven’t,” he says, meeting her eyes. “ _You_ have.”

“It takes a lot of courage to live with mistakes.”

He doesn’t answer that, he only takes it in and wonders why people always have to open his eyes to these things. People always say experience should teach you these things, but he seems to be forever in the dark about them. 

“Are you back together?” she asks. 

Arthur smiles crookedly. “I don’t know. It’s a bit complicated. We haven’t really talked about that.”

“But you’ve talked about other things?”

“Yeah, we’ve talked through some stuff. It’s been very good for me.”

“Good.” She takes his hand in hers and squeezes it. “I hope you know I was only mad at you because I thought you’d shut me out.”

“Morgana,” he says, setting his eyes on her sternly. “You’re a fucking pain in the arse on a daily basis and I still run to you with nearly everything in my life.”

“Oh, you flatter me so.” She exaggerates a dismissive flick of her hand. 

He sinks further into the sofa and leans into her. “You’re my sister so you’re stuck with me whether you like it or not.” Pausing, he looks around the room. “Unless you marry Morgause, then we’re through.”

“God, I’m not going to marry Morgause,” she says, her bright laugh filling the air between them. “Morgause is dating Cenred.”

Arthur stares at her. “ _My_ Cenred?” 

“He’s Morgause’s Cenred now, but yes: the very same.”

“Nightmares for life now.”

“You’re welcome.”

***

Arthur finds his way to Merlin’s studio without much difficulty, but lingers outside the door for longer than it took to find the place. It might even be said that he looks like a very, very creepy person who hovers around the entrance to a children’s art class, but he tries not to think about that. It’s just that he wonders if it’s a good idea to show up like this unannounced. Maybe he should’ve called first, but it had been a kind of spontaneous decision. He’d been heading off from work and when he heard the stop being called, he’d gotten off before he could really come to his senses. Maybe he can plead temporary insanity?

It’s a bit stupid, all of this. He feels silly and weird and a bit tingly in a disconcerting way. Morgana and Gwen look at him fondly when he’s distracted at work and he knows what they’re thinking, which is infuriating because they’re completely right. He’s distracted at work because of Merlin, making him feel rather helpless because he’s tried very hard to stop thinking about Merlin, but it seems to be really impossible. It’s never comfortable to have someone under your skin like this – curling up in your mind, claiming a lot of space that is usually spent on other things. He kind of wants to be angry with Merlin for sitting in his head and smiling that ridiculous smile of his, for getting undressed at untimely moments and for making Arthur’s mind run away into imaginary conversations and _other things_. 

Arthur would’ve liked to say that he found some profound sense of courage that made him go inside, but the only reason he does slip into the studio is that the shop owner across the street looks at him very oddly and seems to be reaching for his phone. At least if he goes inside, Merlin can tell the coppers that he’s not here to abduct innocent children – unless that counts Merlin, in which case that’s exactly what he’s here to do. 

At the end of a long hallway, the space opens up into an airy room with large windows letting the fading daylight filter through even if the glass is filthy with dust and grime. Arthur stops in the opening, hovering uncertainly as he watches the kids all crowding around Merlin in a very loud and very excited circle. The only one who isn’t waving sheets of paper around trying to get Merlin’s attention is a sulky looking kid who sits on his stool, his arms crossed over his chest as he kicks lazily at the easel. 

As Merlin gathers the papers from all the kids and they file back to their seats one by one to pack their things, Arthur watches with rapt attention at the way Merlin smiles warmly at all of them even when they scream in pitches that Arthur quite frankly finds inhuman. There’s also a girl with blonde pigtails that tells a very long story about a cat and Arthur would probably have pushed her out the door ages ago, but Merlin just listens intently. 

It’s only when it’s calmed down a bit and some of the kids have ran past Arthur, yelling at each other to wait, that Merlin looks up and finds Arthur hovering near the back of the room feeling really uncomfortable and a bit like a creepy stalker. A smile spreads across Merlin’s face, though, so it can’t have been wholly unwelcome. 

“Just wait a second, Mordred,” Merlin says to the sourly looking kid who is still sitting in his seat. “We have a few things to talk about in a bit.”

Merlin starts gathering his things as he nods at Arthur. Taking it as an invitation, Arthur moves up to him and smiles carefully. They haven’t really seen each other properly since the day Arthur stayed the night and that in itself has felt pretty strange. It feels like things are still unsettled somehow and it makes Arthur uneasy. 

“Hey,” Merlin says, raising an eyebrow at Arthur in question. 

Running a hand through his hair a bit sheepishly, Arthur avoids Merlin’s gaze for a moment. “Sorry for just showing up, I just... I thought maybe we could hang?”

‘Hang’ sounds very ridiculous. What he actually means is ‘can we go on a ridiculously sappy date and end the night with a lot of lovely, sexy things’, but his brain often thinks it funny to mess things up a bit. Self-sabotage at its finest. 

“Uhm, yeah.” Merlin looks caught off guard, which isn’t that strange all things considered. “I kind of have dinner plans with...with Lance, but maybe you can come as well?”

“I don’t want to mess up your plans with Lance.”

“Don’t be stupid.” Merlin blushes a bit and there’s an odd look on his face for a moment before he suddenly seems to remember Mordred. “I need to talk to Mordred for a bit. He’s been spending his time painting a lot of rude things.”

Arthur looks at the little kid with messy brown hair and he thinks he’s never seen anyone so sulky, but simultaneously innocent. Looking dubiously at Merlin, he laughs a bit incredulously. “Rude things? They’re only kids, Merlin, how rude can it be?”

Merlin arches an eyebrow at him and looks dumbstruck for a moment before he reaches for a paper on his desk and shoves it at Arthur. “You really have no idea, do you?”

Arthur looks down at the paper in his hand as Merlin slips off to talk to Mordred and Arthur finds himself staring for a good minute with his mouth hanging open. _Oh_. Should kids know these things? Is it even legal for this to be in a kid’s head? He turns the paper slightly to the side and he winces, quickly putting it face down on the desk because it makes him feel unclean to even look at it knowing that it was drawn by someone who can’t be more than ten.

When Mordred’s mother gets involved in the conversation as well, Arthur tries to blend into the background as much as possible since it’s probably weird that he’s hovering around in the first place. Mordred’s mother is frankly all kinds of rude and Arthur is very tempted to get involved, but it’s like Merlin can read his mind because he keeps sending him stern looks. In all honesty, the stern looks are distracting him more than chastising him into silence. His mouth goes a bit dry and he really needs to stop himself from thinking really, really perverted things in the presence of a ten year old (albeit a very knowledgeable one). 

“Sorry about that,” Merlin says as Mordred and his mother finally leaves. “It’s been a recurring problem.”

“No, that’s fine.” Arthur shuffles his weight from one foot to the other. “I’m the one who showed up out of nowhere.”

Merlin ushers him out of the room and flicks of the lights. “Don’t be daft.”

They head back out into the chill of the fading daylight and fall into step side by side towards the underground station.

“I’m not being daft,” Arthur mutters, burying his face into his scarf. “I’m just acknowledging that I could be more polite.”

“If there’s anything you need to be, it’s less polite.”

“Less polite? That makes no sense.”

“You’re so...posh.” Merlin flaps his hands in some kind of emphasis. 

Wrinkling his nose, Arthur gives him a reproachful look. “I’m not posh, I’m well-mannered.”

“Oh, sod off!” Merlin laughs brightly and Arthur couldn’t stop smiling if he wanted to. “You’ve always been a posh bastard. There are paintings of you hanging in your house and your guest house, for crying out loud. Normal people don’t do that sort of thing, you know.”

“That would be a valid argument if I was the one who wanted the paintings in the first place,” Arthur points out. “I only did those for my father.” 

There’s a quiet moment where Merlin looks slightly more sombre. “Fair enough. But it doesn’t change that you’re a posh git. I’m sure your flat is gigantic.”

“It’s not that big. Christ, Merlin.” Arthur rolls his eyes and then wonders why Merlin hasn’t been at his flat yet. But then again he never really brings anyone there because it doesn’t really feel like his anyway. “So, to Lance’s?”

“Oh, yeah.” Merlin bites his lip and gets his phone out of his jacket. “I need to call and let him know.”

Arthur falls silent and walks in step with Merlin just as they reach the station. Merlin’s fiddling with his phone, glancing up at Arthur a few times before he seems to finally make the call. 

“Hey, it’s me,” he says, his lips pursing as Arthur can hear the muffled sound of Lance in the other end. “Uhm, our dinner. I’m bringing Arthur. Yeah. No, our dinner, right? Yeah. Bringing Arthur.”

There’s a heavy feeling in Arthur’s chest as he watches Merlin grip his phone so hard his knuckles are white and he refuses to meet Arthur’s eyes. How on earth did Merlin ever keep their secret in the first place? He’s a horrible liar. It feels like a punch to the gut and for a moment he’s afraid he’s going to do something ridiculous like start to cry. 

“So, uh, yeah,” Merlin says as he pockets his phone. “They’re waiting for us; we should run to catch the next one.”

As they speed through the station and down the escalators, Arthur tries to swallow the awful feeling that keeps rising in his throat and he focuses on getting it to go away until they’re sitting on the train, facing each other. 

“There was no dinner at Lance’s, was there?” he asks quietly, not looking at Merlin. 

There’s a sharp intake of breath in answer and Arthur’s head droops as he tries to collect his thoughts. 

“Arthur...”

“No, please don’t,” Arthur says, swallowing heavily. “You don’t want to see me alone and that’s...that’s fine. I shouldn’t have shown up like that.”

Leaning back in the seat, Merlin looks out the window even though there’s nothing to see but their reflections in the glass. 

“It’s just complicated, is all.” Merlin looks miserable and it makes Arthur feel bad, but he doesn’t really know why. It’s not like it’s his fault that Merlin can’t just tell him to go away if that’s what he wants. The thought makes him slightly ill, though. “I want to see you; I just don’t trust myself alone with you.”

“Trust yourself to do what, exactly?”

Merlin throws his arms out and flails a little as if that explains everything. It looks ridiculous and Arthur has to stop himself from smiling despite this whole confusing and slightly hurtful conversation. 

“I promised myself when you came back that I wouldn’t fall for you again.”

Arthur stares at him and swallows down the uncomfortable lump in his throat. There are so many things he could say and probably should say, but he doesn’t even know where to start – and frankly he feels that he has done a lot of apologising to Merlin already. What more can he really do to fix everything? There’s nothing that will change what happened ages ago and the time in between will never actually go away. It will always be there in both of their pasts, no matter how many times Arthur says he’s sorry and Merlin says it’s okay. So Arthur just says nothing. He stares out the window because looking at Merlin is too difficult. 

“I meant it when I said I’m not angry at you anymore.” Merlin’s voice sounds like it’s coming from far away. “But that doesn’t mean I’m ready to go through it all over again.”

Biting the inside of his lips so hard he can feel the metallic taste of blood, Arthur focuses all of his energy on not folding in on himself. 

“Is that what you think we’d be?” he asks, his voice probably betraying everything his face has managed to hide. “Just a mirror of past mistakes as if we haven’t learnt anything in the past few years?”

 _Is that how you still see_ me?

Everything spoken and unspoken hangs between them as they studiously ignore each other’s gaze. The atmosphere is thick and strange, heavy with unspoken emotion and a mutual, painful past. It becomes almost suffocating until their stop is finally called and they slip out, heading back up the long escalators to find fresh air again. They walk in silence all the way to Lance’s place and it could almost have been companionable if everything didn’t feel tilted and distorted in a way that Arthur hates. 

Arthur realises that they’ve talked a lot about _him_ in all of this and maybe they haven’t really dwelled much on Merlin, but Merlin always seemed like he was the one on the right track. Maybe he still is, because maybe Merlin is just past all of it to the point where he’s ready to move on, while Arthur has done nothing but think about Merlin. Arthur never made a promise to not fall all over again, but maybe he should have because that may have made him more aware of where he was heading. 

When Lance opens the door and smiles in that way Lance always does, Arthur is still wrapped up in his thoughts and he has to pull himself back into the present. 

“You guys are just in time,” Lance says, letting them past. “Gwen’s been cooking up something that smells delicious. I don’t know what it is, though, because I’m not allowed anywhere near it.”

“Good for Gwen.” Merlin shrugs the jacket form his shoulders. “I’ve lost count of how many of my dinners you’ve ruined.”

“That is a blatant lie.”

Arthur tunes them out as they bicker their way into Lance’s kitchen and when Merlin and Lance start bumping shoulders, trying to tip each other off balance, he sides up to Gwen feeling like that’s his safe zone in it all. She jumps a bit when he’s suddenly there next to her and for a moment her expressions is totally unguarded and the pity almost rolls off her in waves before she suddenly smiles.

“Glad you could make it,” she says airily as she pushes past him to stir experimentally in one of her pans. 

As far as Arthur can tell, the meal is a simple pasta dish and had probably been started the moment after Merlin’s phone call came in. 

“I didn’t want to impose on Merlin’s pre-made plans, but he insisted,” he says, and their eyes meet in a short, silent conversation that leaves Arthur feeling kind of humiliated. He appreciates that Gwen is obviously sympathetic, but it’s just embarrassing. 

“Well, I’m glad you’re here.”

“I’m glad someone is,” he mutters sullenly and spares another look in the direction of Merlin now sitting by the kitchen table with Lance, completely engrossed in an animated conversation. “Look, maybe I should just go.”

“Don’t.” Gwen puts her hand fleetingly on his arm. “I don’t care what Merlin wants, I think it’s great that you’re here for dinner and I’d like for you to stay.”

Nodding silently, he watches her as she seasons the sauce and he realises that she’s talking. He hums in the right places, studying her closely as she works at a bit of a frantic pace now, her hair coming slightly undone from its ponytail. It hasn’t really dawned on him how happy she looks, but she really does. There’s a smile on her lips that comes easily and her eyes are bright. She looks animated as she talks, even though he has no idea what she’s talking about. He smiles softly at her, forcing himself to go with the part of him that is happy for her and not the part of him that is a cynic that hates all this glowing happiness nor the part of him that is outlandishly jealous. 

“Help me set the table,” Gwen says as she thrusts a stack of plates into his hands, which he’s completely unprepared for and he nearly drops them. 

When the table is set and they’ve all taken their seats, Arthur realises with an increasing sense of awkwardness that it’s all very reminiscent of a double date. Ordinarily that wouldn’t really be so bad. Lately, it actually may have been exactly what he wanted, but the fact that he wants it just makes it all the more unbearable. He looks at Merlin out of the corner of his eyes, trying not to smile at the way Merlin is twirling the pasta onto his fork with admirable focus. His lips are pursed and his nose wrinkles slightly as he stares at his plate. Arthur has to look away because the swelling affection in his chest is not welcome. It’s just not. 

“- so Merlin puts on this wizard costume from a costume party and runs the girl off yelling spells at the top of his lungs.” Lancelot laughs and shakes his head at the memory. “She was scared out of her wits. Turns out she had this whole thing where she was terrified of dark magic.”

“Well, I couldn’t know _that_ ,” Merlin says defensively. “I only wanted to run her off, not scar her for life.”

“I could always count on this guy to get rid of the really persistent girls that showed up at my dorm.” Lance sips from his glass for a second before he smirks again. “Even if you probably did end up scarring some of them for life.”

“I was mostly very nice, you know.”

“You were not.” Lance grins. “Remember that girl Tina? You told her I’d died in a car accident.”

Gwen looks mortified at that, raising an eyebrow at Merlin who looks a bit shameful. 

“Well, she wouldn’t leave,” he says, shrugging. “And if you’d been the one trying to fend girls away from Lance at university, you’d have done the same thing. Believe me.”

“So did he fend off guys for you then?” Gwen asks, a small curve of her lips betraying her amusement. 

Merlin snorts. “If only. No, in exchange for me fending the girls off, he sent the guys into my path. Not that it helped much.”

“Don’t be coy, Merlin,” Lance says, taking another bread roll from the basket in the middle of the table. “There was plenty of interest. You’re a very handsome man.”

Throwing a piece of bread at Lance, Merlin laughs. “Sod off.”

Arthur finds he has never been quite as occupied with a meal as he is right then, if only because it makes for a good excuse for not saying anything. There’s a lull in conversation now, though, and he feels as if maybe they’re all expecting him to add something. 

“So, you guys went to Oxford then?” he asks, picking at his pasta with the fork. 

Lance looks confused for a moment. “No, Cambridge. Why?”

Only allowing himself a quick look at Merlin, he quickly puts his attention back to his plate. 

“I just thought you guys were at Oxford,” Arthur says, shrugging. 

He hears Merlin sigh heavily in the seat next to him. 

“Maybe we should stop the whole ‘avoiding the truth’ thing now that our secret is supposed to be out?” Merlin suggests, sounding a tad testy. 

Arthur doesn’t really think Merlin has room for being testy. It’s not like Arthur can be blamed for not knowing how much Merlin wants revealed. How should Arthur know anything about what Merlin wants? He stabs his pasta a bit violently. 

“Yeah, fine, I just didn’t know how much you want me to tell,” Arthur mutters, and locks eyes with Gwen. She smiles at him and he needs that. It feels like he has someone on his side, even if he doesn’t really know what his side actually is. 

Merlin’s expression softens when Arthur glances at him again and judging by the flush in his cheeks he might even be a bit ashamed, but it’s hard to tell. 

“Right.” Arthur clears his throat. “I thought you guys went to Oxford because that’s what Merlin and I planned to do. We were going to apply together and move away from everyone and start over.”

“And you didn’t,” Lance says, and Arthur frankly thinks he’s pointing out the obvious, but he supposes there are a lot of holes in the story as far as everyone else is concerned. 

“Nah,” Arthur says and cringes at how flippant he sounds. “I had a bit of a sexual identity crisis and everything went to shit, including my plans to go to Oxford.”

“And mine. Oxford didn’t really feel like the right place anymore.”

Arthur frowns at Merlin. “You shouldn’t have given up on Oxford because of me. It was your dream.”

There’s a silence that Arthur feels is a bit pressing and he hates how he’s turned the conversation into something weird and depressing. It just seems like he keeps doing that. 

“Oxford was _our_ dream. It wouldn’t have been the same without you.” Merlin shrugs. “Plus, I ended up having a great time at Cambridge.”

“Of course you did. You met Gwaine,” Lance says, his eyes bright with amusement. 

Merlin laughs. “Yeah, I met Gwaine and you. Come to think of it, it’s a miracle I didn’t have a shit time.”

It’s weird to consider that Arthur had been jealous at Gwen for finding Lancelot first, and now he’s jealous of Lancelot with an intensity that’s both uncomfortable and a bit frightening. It burns painfully in his stomach as he thinks about all the years Lancelot was in Merlin’s life and he wasn’t. He has to really stop himself from hating Lance in a way that he really doesn’t deserve, because he’s a good guy and he makes Gwen happy. And he’s obviously made Merlin happy too, which is something that can’t be said for Arthur. 

“So, was university as we always thought it would be?” Arthur asks, thinking that he might be a masochist. 

“Yeah,” Merlin says, smiling slightly. “Yeah, it was. A lot of partying, a lot of work and a lot of fun. And it was a fresh start.”

Oh, God. He can’t quite figure out how everything turns out completely depressive when he jumps into the conversation. He feels completely awful for turning things into this sombre, awkward mood. When Gwen changes the topic to the posters of Merlin having gone up all over the city, he only chimes in a few times in fear that he’ll turn everything into a mess again. Without his involvement, the rest of the dinner is light and relaxed, and he listens to the three of them in a way that he usually doesn’t. He’s much too fond of talking to listen like this and he wishes he could be a part of the easy conversation. It’s unsettling how much he wants for everything to be uncomplicated. 

“Let’s watch a film tonight,” Merlin says as they start clearing the table. “Oh! We should watch some Python. It’s been ages.”

“Yeah, sure,” Lance says, balancing empty plates in his hands. “You should go set up. I’m on dish duty today.”

Arthur ends up helping with the dishes, chatting pleasantly with Lance about very neutral topics that he can’t turn into a mess. After Lance dries off the last plate, Arthur follows him into the living room, but finds himself hovering a bit awkwardly as the other three curl up in front of the TV.

“I think maybe I should go,” Arthur says, scratching his neck absently. 

“No, please stay!” Gwen exclaims, petting the empty seat next to her.

“I should really go. Thanks for having me, though. It was great.”

Lance smiles and gives a slight wave. “Thanks for coming, mate.”

Arthur waves back and slips back towards the hallway, feeling himself breathe a bit easier as freedom comes closer. 

“Arthur, wait.” 

He looks up and finds Merlin hovering in the hallway, watching him as he pulls his coat on. Arthur pulls his scarf down from the rack, but stands still as he waits for Merlin to continue. 

“I’m sorry about tonight.” Merlin sighs and looks a bit lost. “This was weird.”

“Yeah, I guess it was.”

“I just don’t...”

“Trust yourself. I know.”

Arthur is about to leave, but he stops himself, turning back to Merlin and taking a deep breath. There’s apprehension in Merlin’s face, but Arthur is a bit tired of all the silence he’s been partaking in today. 

“I’m not eighteen, you know,” he says, throwing his arms out. “I understand if you don’t want all of this to start again, but it’s not the same as it was. I’m not hiding anything anymore; I’m not confused about who I am or what I want to be.”

“Arthur-”

“I missed you so much, Merlin. I don’t know if I’ve told you that. I thought about you and Oxford all the time and I’ve always known I wasted the biggest chance of my life. I don’t expect it to be the same for you. You had Cambridge and Lance and Gwaine and I understand. But I thought you should know that all the things we’ve talked about these past few weeks? It didn’t just show up when I saw you again. They’ve been here all along and I’ve worked hard to become a better person – to be someone who would be worthy of someone like you. And maybe that seems like a stupid goal to have, but there it is.”

It’s a bit of a relief to say everything that’s been burning in his throat since Merlin said he’d promised himself not to fall again. The silence feels eerie and strange after he’s been rambling, but he accepts it and wraps the scarf around his neck, pushing his hands down into his pockets. Not waiting for Merlin to find an answer, he heads out into the drizzle and walks almost half-way home to clear his head, before he’s too tired to keep it up and jumps onboard a train. He almost falls asleep, but somehow manages to find his way home before he falls face forwards onto his sofa.

***

Gwen’s cell phone keeps buzzing throughout the meeting and it’s driving Arthur slightly insane. He tries to focus as one of the teams from Morgana’s department holds their presentation, but the incessant vibrating next to him is breaking through his concentration and he wants nothing more than to just grab it and tell whoever it is to sod off.

He supports his head against his hand and tries to look suitably attentive. Truth be told, the vibrating phone is only one of the distractions that keeps him from paying as much attention as he should. He’s loath to admit it, but he keeps thinking about Merlin in that really unsettling, obsessive way that gets in the way of everything else. They haven’t really seen each other since the dinner at Lance, which was only five days ago but it feels like a month if Arthur is honest about it. The more time passes, the more Arthur feels distracted and off balance. It feels a bit like he’s floating around in his own head, just trying to hold onto the things he’s supposed to be focusing on. 

There’s a hand in his hair, pulling until a sharp pain prickles his scalp and he cries out, whirring around to find Morgana looking at him with her eyebrow raised challengingly.

“It might be easier to make a decision about this if you pay attention,” she observes and he notices that everyone but Morgana and Gwen have left the room while he was elsewhere entirely. 

He knows he should apologise, but he feels vulnerable, so he just scowls a bit and looks down at his notepad. “I was paying attention.”

“Oh, really,” Morgana says, walking around the conference table to sit opposite Arthur and Gwen. “Which presentation was your favourite?”

“Uh, number two.”

“Right. The one with the ducks?”

“Err. Yes.”

Morgana grins. “There wasn’t one with ducks, Arthur.” She pauses and looks thoughtful. “There was an ostrich, though. I don’t really understand what that has to do with coffee.”

He wants to yell at her for no apparent reason, but he knows it’s not fair. She hasn’t done anything. 

“Who the hell is calling you five hundred times an hour?” he asks Gwen instead, nodding towards her phone which is once again vibrating against the wooden table. 

Her lips purse and she presses the reject button on the call. 

“I’m ignoring Merlin,” she says, almost flippantly. 

“Poor kitten.” Morgana pouts. “What did he do?”

“He’s being a childish git,” Gwen says, reaching her hand out to rub Arthur’s forearm. “And I’m not speaking to him until he stops being one.”

He feels bad that Gwen and Merlin aren’t talking, he really does, but at the same time his heart swells a bit because he looks at Gwen and Morgana in turn and he thinks they might just be his team. They’re the Ron and Hermione to his Harry (or maybe it’s more like the Ron and Harry to his Hermione, truth be told). 

“You don’t have to do that for me,” he says softly. 

Gwen opens her folder and flips through her papers. “I know, but I’m doing it anyway.” She smiles. “I like Merlin. I think he’s great and he’s become a good friend already, but you’re Arthur and you know I will always have your back.”

He looks at her for a moment, idly wondering how he could ever have thought he was alone. The moment gets the best of him and he slips a hand across her shoulders and pulls her into a crushing hug, making her laugh into his shoulder, her hand reaching up to pat him softly on the back. 

“I think I might have missed something,” Morgana says. “What did Merlin do? Do I need to bring out my stilettos?”

“He’s being...well, kind of an ostrich, actually.” Gwen’s nose wrinkles as she pauses. “They’re the ones who bury their heads in the sand, right?”

“I thought that was emus?” Morgana says.

Arthur sighs and leans forward on the table as Gwen and Morgana start discussing the difference between an ostrich and an emu with an enthusiasm that seems fairly misplaced. 

“Anyway,” Gwen says, cutting the discussion short. “Point is Merlin is doing that head in the sand thing instead of being an adult about things. He’s trying to use Lance as a buffer so he doesn’t have to see Arthur alone. I’ve told him he can hardly do that forever, but he just starts hyperventilating every time I tell him to talk it out.”

Morgana frowns. “Really? Merlin? That sounds more like something Arthur would do.”

“Hey!”

“Well, you would. Actually, I’m fairly sure you have.”

Arthur just glares in response, knowing that he probably has done it several times, but only if the person he wanted to avoid was a complete nutter. Come to think of it, that hardly speaks well for Merlin’s opinion of him.

“I mean, usually I wouldn’t get involved,” Gwen says, looking a bit pained. “But Merlin involved us in the first place and of course Lance is going to support Merlin, you know? I wish Lance would just tell him to face things head on, but Lance would probably help Merlin kill someone if he asked for it.”

“Lance couldn’t kill a single living thing,” Arthur comments, smiling crookedly. “He’s so nice and non-confrontational that he couldn’t even turn down his own admirers at university.”

“Well, maybe not,” Gwen concedes, “but he would definitely hide the body, and not just because he enjoys digging.”

Arthur throws his head back and laughs.

“Maybe Merlin just doesn’t know what to do,” Morgana suggests, running a hand through her hair. “He doesn’t really strike me as the type of person who spills his heart that easily.”

“I guess,” Gwen says, biting her lip. “He doesn’t really talk about it all that much, not even to Lance.”

It’s kind of infuriating, really, because Arthur really does want to be angry with Merlin for avoiding the issue and he is, but at the same time Arthur knows that he’s been very focused on himself and how much he’s needed Merlin’s forgiveness. Truth be told, he can’t remember ever having asked Merlin how he feels about everything. Since Merlin has been telling him that he’s no longer mad, Arthur has just been assuming that Merlin is _fine_. It’s becoming increasingly clear that he’s definitely not _fine_ , but Arthur doesn’t really know how to bring it up in a way that won’t make Merlin run in the opposite direction. Maybe what Merlin needs is to figure it out on his own while Arthur waits patiently in the wings. No one would ever describe Arthur as particularly patient, but maybe he can play the waiting game. 

He feels a thundering headache lurking and he sighs, picking at the notepad in front of him. “Can we talk about something else? We should go through the new product ideas.”

“Let’s do the ostrich,” Morgana says, clapping her hands gleefully. “Marketing it would be hilarious.”

“We’re not selling coffee inspired by ostriches!” 

“Arthur, you’re such a killjoy.”

“No, I’m just making sure we don’t go bankrupt. Which is actually my job.”

Gwen flicks through the different presentations in her folder and only looks up to roll her eyes at Morgana. “You can start your own bird-coffee empire, but I’m not marketing an ostrich coffee.”

“I hate you both.”

Arthur and Gwen both hum in reply and disguise their amused smiles really, really badly.

***

If anyone were to research Arthur’s relationship with his phone, they’d probably find that the amount of time he spends looking at it has increased by approximately 60% in the last week and a half. It’s a maddening thing, really. He checks it almost subconsciously when he’s got a free moment: between phone calls at work, during commercial breaks, when he’s on the train. Sometimes he stares at it and wonders if he should call Merlin and force him into some sort of soul-searching conversation. Other times he hovers over the text box trying to think of something stupid he can text Merlin that has nothing to do with anything just because he wants Merlin to answer. Most of the time, he checks his phone to see if there’s an incoming message. Every time the little envelope shows up in the corner, he holds his breath on instinct and then blows his cheeks out in frustration when it’s not Merlin.

If Morgana and Gwen notice they don’t say anything. Leon notices and says it a lot. Arthur hangs out with Gwaine one night at the pub and Gwaine talks to him about Merlin in a tone of voice that has to be the most serious one Arthur has ever heard him use. He wonders what Merlin’s doing and if he’s having the same conversations with Lance. The desire to talk to him is becoming almost unbearable, only because Arthur really feels like he needs to know if Merlin is on the same page. Even if things are complicated and they might not be meant to be together again, he just needs to know if he’s the only one who spends too much of his day thinking about slow kisses and a future that seems very unrealistic at the moment. 

Perhaps it’s not so strange that he’s not prepared for the text when it does come. There’s been so many fleeting looks at his phone that has ended up being nothing, so why should he be prepared? When he sits on the train, his head heavy from a long day at work and the phone beeps in his pocket, he pulls it out and looks at it. And then he looks at it again. 

_I missed you too._

His fingertips tingle strangely and he sucks in a deep breath, gripping the phone tightly in his hand. Catching sight of himself in the reflection of the dark windows, he realises he looks like a lunatic. He’s grinning madly at himself and his hair sticking up at odd ends from where he’s been pulling at it. It’s only a sentence, but he reads it so many times the letters start to blur and the words stop carrying meaning. His thumb hovers over the reply box, trying to form an answer that makes sense, but his head just seems to be buzzing. 

When his stop is called, he nearly misses it and only manages to throw himself out the doors seconds before they close on him. He walks with his phone in his hand, periodically having to look up to make sure he’s not bumping into things. Thankfully, he makes it safely back to the flat and does nothing but fall back onto the sofa, staring at his phone. It’s stupid how much four words mean to him, really, but in that moment it means everything. 

_Really?_

It’s the only thing he can think of, even if it may be the most lacklustre reply in the recent history of replies. There isn’t really anything else he can think of, but he wants Merlin to know he read it and he doesn’t want the texts to stop. It takes another twenty two minutes before Merlin replies. 

_All the time._

Arthur throws his phone down into the sofa and groans, flopping back against the pillows. There are many things Arthur wants to do, like run to Merlin’s flat and push him against the doorframe, licking into his mouth until none of them can think straight. The problem is that the last time Arthur showed up unannounced Merlin had a freak out of some sort which was what landed them in this situation in the first place. Plus, Arthur has laid down all his cards. Merlin is the one who needs to figure things out this time, and Arthur will be damned if he doesn’t understand the complexity of figuring things out. If there’s one thing he has learned a lot about in life, it’s figuring things out. 

At some point he falls asleep on with his cheek pressed into a pillow only to be jolted awake by the sharp ring of his door bell. The foreign sound makes his heart race uncomfortably and he scrambles from the sofa, shuffling towards the door on slightly wobbly legs. When he opens the door his legs definitely do not get less wobbly. He clutches the door instinctively and stares, trying to will his mind to come back from the bleary fog of sleep. 

“Feel like playing footie?” Merlin asks, holding the ball out in front of him. 

“Uh, inside?” Arthur asks, rubbing at his eye. 

The answering smile is so fond that Arthur’s heart lurches. 

“I was thinking more like the park just down the street.”

“Right.” Arthur breathes deeply a couple of times. “Sorry, I think I fell asleep.”

Merlin shuffles slightly, his smile quickly fading into a nervous expression. “I can come back later.”

“Shut up.” Arthur rolls his eyes. “Let me grab my coat.”

It’s a bit of a ludicrous idea, really. The weather is chilly, the sun is almost setting and it’s hardly the right time for football, but strangely it has never felt like a better time for football. The air is crisp in Arthur’s lungs when he inhales deeply, running after Merlin in an attempt to tackle him to the ground. Merlin is about as easy to tackle as he always has been, though – which is not at all. He’s always been infuriatingly fast for someone so graceless and gangly. 

It’s a pointless game, really. There’s only two of them, a makeshift goal and they both lose count of the score, but strangely football has never felt less pointless. Merlin’s cheeks are tinged pink as he grins cheekily after snagging the ball right in front of Arthur for the hundredth time and Arthur can’t stop laughing when Merlin’s sweater snags on the makeshift goalpost sending both the goal and himself tumbling to the ground. The laughter bubbles in his throat and he feels drunk on the happiness he feels when Merlin glares at him and tells him to shut up. 

He continues to feel disgustingly happy even when they both sag down, exhausted, onto a nearby bench, mist rising from their lips as they exhale heavily over and over. Arthur smiles into the cold evening, trying to hold onto some of the happiness in case he needs it later. 

They sit in silence for a while before Merlin is the one to break it. “Sometimes I’m pretty stupid.” He buries his chin down into his scarf. “I haven’t done that well with feelings for a long time. And most of the time, I never really let people know how I feel about the important things, even though I should.”

Arthur doesn’t answer; he just studies Merlin out of the corner of his eyes, looking at the way Merlin hunches over himself and hugs his knees to his chest, curling his arms around himself. He looks tired, Arthur realises, and he thinks he might not be the only one who hasn’t slept all that well lately. 

“I think I _have_ kind of seen you as if you’re still eighteen,” Merlin admits, looking out over the park. “I know you’re not, but it’s hard to know where the old you ends and the new one begins, if that makes sense?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s not that I blame you anymore, because you know I don’t and I blame myself as much as anything. But it’s stupid, anyway, all this blaming stuff, isn’t it? We were just kids trying to figure out life.”

Arthur nods, pressing his lips together for a moment. “I’m really done with the whole blaming thing too. Who knows, maybe we would’ve broken up over some stupid argument about Christmas gifts or grocery shopping or the way I always eat all the cheese in the house anyway.”

Merlin’s shoulders shake with silent laughter and his lips pull into a tiny ghost of a smile. “Yeah, who knows if we even would’ve been together still? Let’s face it: you probably needed a couple of years to de-prattify.”

“Stop making up words, Merlin.”

“See, there’s another reason we could’ve broken up.”

Smiling, Arthur shakes his head and looks at Merlin, wondering if maybe they’re right. It’s not like any of them were the height of maturity nine years ago. 

They sit in companionable silence for a moment, before Merlin sighs and lifts is head to look out over the empty park. 

“I guess I’m just scared,” Merlin says, not looking in Arthur’s direction. “I’ve never been able to figure out what I meant to you back then. If you really meant it when you said you wanted Oxford with me. I always wondered if you felt the way I did, even when you were afraid of feeling it. I never really knew for sure what you were thinking, though, and that has always scared me.”

Rubbing his hands together for warmth, Arthur bites his lip slightly and looks down at the ground. When he was eighteen he’d hardly thought about love. He’d thought about desire and affection and dreams, but not about love. Looking back on it now, he knows it’s always been love and it never actually stopped. He hasn’t fallen _back_ in love with Merlin these past few months because he never truly stopped. 

Arthur leans back on the bench and looks at Merlin’s huddled form. 

“To me you’ve always been the right guy who came at the wrong time,” Arthur says quietly. “I always wished I’d met you when I had it all figured out. I should’ve told you back then what you meant to me, but maybe I didn’t fully know until it was too late.”

As Arthur talks, Merlin turns to look at him, his face serious and contemplative. 

“But I can tell you now what you meant back then,” Arthur continues, struggling a bit to get the words out properly. “You meant everything.”

Merlin’s cold hand grasps his, long fingers entwining with Arthur’s. He likes how they fit together as if they’ve done nothing else their entire lives. 

“We’re rubbish at communicating, you know that right?”

Arthur snorts. “God, yeah.”

They laugh, but it dies quickly and fades into the grave mood between them. 

“I _have_ been pushing you away,” Merlin admits. “I was scared. I didn’t – I don’t – want to be hurt again. But I’m tired of pushing. My arms are pretty weak.” He smiles at his own joke. 

“They’re like noodles,” Arthur agrees, holding their entwined hands out in front of them and Merlin rolls his eyes. 

Eventually the cold becomes unbearable and Arthur thinks he may never be warm again as the chill settles in his bones and he shudders involuntarily at the way it spreads through him. Merlin is looking cold too, the tip of his nose glowing red and his hands rubbing softly over his knees over and over again in an attempt to warm up. 

“Let’s go back to my flat,” Arthur says a bit reluctantly, not really wanting to leave the park even though he’s about to freeze several of his vital organs. “I think I’m going to lose the feeling in my legs soon.”

Merlin exhales a shaky breath. “Thank god, I don’t think I’ve ever been so cold in my entire life.”

They laugh softly as they both stagger from the bench on shaky, cold legs and fall into step with each other. Arthur’s thoughts are scattered and a bit confusing, and even though he’s finally had some kind of conversation with Merlin he feels like he doesn’t really know exactly where Merlin stands. He does understand Merlin a lot better than he did a few hours ago. It’s strange how he always just assumed Merlin was perfectly fine only because that’s what he chose to portray to the world, and in a way it’s a bit of a relief to know that Merlin has been hurting too.

It’s just that Arthur knows he’s so deep in it that if it goes any further he won’t be able to handle it if it all goes to hell. This is a scary thought, but he’s come to peace with this realisation over the past couple of weeks and in a way it’s made it easier to understand that he either needs to be with Merlin or he needs to somehow move on (though that’s a project Arthur wouldn’t even know how to begin). 

“Wait,” Arthur says, his mouth going dry as he comes to a halt, reaching out to stop Merlin. “I need to ask you something.”

Merlin meets his gaze and stands completely still, waiting for Arthur to find the words that he needs to say. 

“I just need to know if...well, if it was important to you too? You and me.”

“It was. Of course it was, Arthur, oh god. Did you think it wasn’t?” Merlin’s eyes are wide and he wrings his hands. 

Shrugging, he feels a bit sheepish. “I don’t know, I’ve always kind of thought maybe I exaggerated it in my head.”

Arthur’s breath hitches when Merlin takes a step closer and reaches out to hold Arthur’s hand in his. It’s cold, but comforting and distracting all at once. 

“I’m really sorry that I’m so utterly shit at talking about how I feel,” Merlin says, his thumb brushing lightly across Arthur’s skin. “You’re hugely important to me. I missed you so much that it scared me sometimes. On the first day at Cambridge I sodding _cried_ because you weren’t there.”

Reaching up to cup Merlin’s face in his hands, Arthur brushes his lips softly over Merlin’s in a kiss that is barely there. Affection and warmth spreads in his chest, making him smile into the second press of their lips. Merlin’s fingers curl into his coat as the tenderness in their touch turns needy and Arthur opens his lips into the kiss, tilting Merlin’s head back and capturing his bottom lip between his own.  
Maybe Arthur is exaggerating if he says that his entire body hums with the feeling of _Merlin_ , but he doesn’t really think so. There’s just such a sense of finally being in the one place he wants to be and it overwhelms him so much that he pulls back. Arthur can feel Merlin’s breath on his lips and he closes his eyes again to the feeling, noticing how his heart beats heavily. It’s strange to be so aware of his own pulse and the way it thuds rhythmically against his skin. 

“Merlin, I need to know,” he says, their faces still so close Arthur can’t quite look into Merlin’s eyes. “Do you want to do this? Because if you don’t I really, _really_ need to go now.”

He feels more than he sees that Merlin starts panicking. Merlin’s fingers curl tighter into Arthur’s coat and his breathing is heavy, the unease radiating from him. There’s a vague memory of Merlin in his bed, muttering about making decisions and panic attacks, something that Arthur had rather brushed off at the time but that seems all too real right now. 

Putting one hand on either side of Merlin’s head, he forces them a bit further apart so that he can look into the wide, apprehensive eyes staring back at him. “Don’t be an ostrich, Merlin.”

“What?” Merlin says, his voice cracking slightly. 

“An ostrich.”

The tension shatters and falls to the road in pieces, Merlin’s soft laughter ghosting across Arthur’s cheek. 

“How come I never know what you’re talking about?”

“I’m a living mystery.”

“Quite.”

Arthur shakes Merlin’s head a bit and sets his eyes into him, hoping he looks at least a bit confident. “I mean it, though. Don’t stick your head in the sand and hope that things will work out on their own, because take it from someone who knows: they really don’t.”

“Where do you get all these animal references?” Merlin asks with a crooked smile. “Do you have an animal comparisons handbook?”

“Yes, it was a gift from my father on my 21st birthday.”

Merlin laughs, the tension in his face completely gone. His expression is open and relaxed, making Arthur want to smile indulgently and wrap Merlin into him and entangle them together so intimately that letting go would be near impossible. There’s a matter at hand, though. 

“I mean it, Merlin,” he says, his fingers sliding into Merlin’s windswept hair. “No more hiding. And that goes for you too.”

Closing his eyes, Merlin just breathes for a few moments before he leans forward and buries his head in Arthur’s neck, inhaling deeply. Merlin’s arms wrap around him and Arthur instinctively hugs him closer, wondering if this is the goodbye hug. 

“I want to do this,” Merlin mutters into his neck, his hair tickling Arthur’s chin. “I really, _really_ want to do this, even if we’ll inevitably screw up because we’re ridiculous.”

There is no way to accurately describe the feelings that consume him as he nuzzles into Merlin’s hair, hugging him so tightly that he would be embarrassed if he wasn’t so fucking happy in every possible way. He almost laughs for no reason whatsoever, but he catches it in time, transforming it into a giddy smile instead. 

“Bring on the screwing up,” he says. “It’s not like it’s a new experience for me.”

“Right?” Merlin agrees, his shoulders shaking slightly with silent laughter. “I actually don’t think I know how to do things without making a mess of it.”

Loosening his grip, Arthur keeps one arm on Merlin’s shoulders and he pulls him along down the road where they quickly fall in step with each other as Merlin’s arm slips across Arthur’s back. 

“Which is why you’re so lucky to have my expertise in cleaning up messes.”

“You mean Morgana’s expertise in cleaning up messes,” Merlin shoots back, the grin on his face possibly rivalling Arthur’s. 

Arthur’s head is buzzing with a happiness that feels oddly like a drug, making him want to run down the street hand in hand like a pair of teenagers. It also makes him feel silly, stupid and disgustingly amazing. 

“You are a ridiculous person with frankly ludicrous ears,” he says, unable to keep the fondness out of his voice. 

Merlin looks up at him with raised eyebrows. “Oh, so I’m a person now? Not an ostrich or a giraffe? Or is it a penguin next? A lemur? A frill-necked lizard?”

Tightening his hold on Merlin’s shoulder, Arthur pulls him closer as he laughs and the two of them stagger slightly when they reach the front door of his building. 

“I do like the idea of frill-necked lizards.”

“Oh, bugger. I’m giving you ideas, aren’t I?”

“Definitely.”

They tumble inside, racing up the stairs as they both suddenly seem to remember how cold they are and Merlin won’t stop shouting about how he’s about to lose his left leg. Getting the door open with shaking hands proves to be a frustrating project and Merlin tries to still Arthur’s hand with his own, but Merlin is shaking even more violently and they both dissolve into fits of giggles that Arthur will deny until the day he dies. Giggles, honestly. 

“Fuck, I need a shower,” Arthur says through clenched teeth, wondering how long ago he left the feeling in his right big toe. 

Merlin is shaking like a leaf standing in the middle of Arthur’s bedroom as Arthur pulls his shirt over his head. 

“Please say you have a sauna.”

“No sauna,” Arthur says apologetically, pushing the door to his adjoining bathroom open. He looks back and sees Merlin hugging himself, his teeth chattering even as his jaw works to make them stop. “Get in here.”

Slinking past Arthur into the bathroom, Merlin looks at him under arched eyebrows. “You’re going to let me shower first? That’s unexpectedly selfless of you.”

Arthur snorts. “First? In your dreams, Merlin. There’s plenty of room in my shower.”

And there was, really. 

“That’s very p-presumptuous of you.”

“Maybe that would be a valid point if your teeth weren’t trying to jump out of your mouth,” Arthur points out, jumping on one leg as he tries to rid himself of his jeans. 

Merlin seems to sulk for a moment, still wrapping his arms around himself as if trying to huddle himself for warmth. Stepping into the shower, Arthur gives him a look that clearly reads ‘suit yourself’ and quickly turns on the stream of scalding hot water. The feeling of overwhelming heat on his freezing skin makes him moan, even if the water is chilled before it reaches his calves. He hates being so damn cold. 

“Just get in here,” he says to Merlin, exasperated. “You’re going to get sick and I’ll have to make you soup.”

There’s a slight shuffle from outside the shower before Merlin huffs. “I’ve been taking care of myself since I moved out of my mum’s place; I think I can deal with a cold.”

Arthur rolls his eyes even though Merlin can’t see him as he leans back to let the water slide through his hair and massage his scalp, making his muscles relax under the stream. “Fine,” he mutters. “Don’t let me do something nice for you. That would obviously be a heinous crime.”

“Why are we arguing about this?” Merlin asks and suddenly he slips inside, sliding the glass door shut. “I’m not even actually sick yet.”

“I like to be prepared.”

His lips tugging into a smile, Arthur lets himself drink in the sight of Merlin standing naked right in front of him with a distinct blush on his cheeks. Merlin seems to be very unsure of what to do with his arms and he fidgets, his gaze unable to settle on anything in particular. Arthur, on the other hand, is completely unable to keep his eyes anywhere other than glued to Merlin’s lean, pale body. A familiar feeling of longing swells in his chest and he spends a few moments desperately wanting to touch before he realises that he probably can. 

Unable to stop himself from grinning so widely his cheeks kind of hurt, he circles his fingers around Merlin’s thin wrist and pulls him forwards into the heavy stream of water. Merlin’s unruly black hair smoothes under the water and he closes his eyes to the heat, his mouth falling open as he draws a few deep breaths. Arthur simply doesn’t have it in him to resist, and he catches Merlin’s parted lips, running his hands over soft, wet skin as he kisses Merlin hungrily. It becomes almost sloppy when they cling to each other and open against each other’s lips, tongues meeting with a sense of urgency that feels completely new. Arthur’s heart thumps harshly in his chest as Merlin kisses him passionately and his long, slim fingers run over Arthur’s upper body, softly sliding across his stomach and his chest. The feeling of the impatient touch of Merlin’s hands makes Arthur’s skin hum in its wake, leaving Arthur needy and wanting in a way that is almost a little overwhelming. 

When Merlin’s hands begin shaking, Arthur reluctantly pulls back and looks searchingly at Merlin. “You cold?” he murmurs softly as he runs his hands down Merlin’s arms. 

Merlin shakes his head and Arthur suddenly notices that Merlin’s eyes are suspiciously misty. His chest tightens in panic and he tries not to grip Merlin’s arms tightly. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Oh.” Merlin releases a shaky breath. “Nothing.”

“Please tell me,” Arthur says insistently, not able to bear the thought that Merlin might be having regrets. “If I....if you...”

“No,” Merlin says with so much conviction that Arthur abruptly stops talking. “It’s nothing wrong. I’m just... It sounds ridiculous, but I think I’ve been kind of denying how much I’ve wanted this.”

There’s a slightly pained look on Merlin’s face and Arthur desperately wants it to go away. He leans in and places a soft, tender kiss to Merlin’s lips. 

“I wish we’d never broken up,” Merlin says and his voice trembles. 

“Me too.”

Arthur doesn’t want any of them to be sad right now, nor does he want to spend the moment thinking about what could have been. He presses Merlin back against the tiled wall, burying his hands into the wet locks of messy black hair as he nips at the long column of neck that has tempted him since the day they met. It feels like his whole body is vibrating with want as Merlin presses back into him. Both of them are hard as they arch into each other and Arthur groans into Merlin’s neck, breathing harshly as he moves his hips steadily into the rhythm between them. He thinks about their first fumbling kisses in the locker room after a match they’d lost miserably and he smiles. 

“Arthur,” Merlin says in a breathless voice in an urgent tone. He pulls at Arthur’s hair and Arthur looks up questioningly, trying to calm his rapid breathing. “I just...I need to say this. If we’re starting over, I need you to know how I feel.”

Swallowing the question about whether this is really the time, Arthur nods and it takes everything in his power to stand completely still, just holding his hands in place on Merlin’s ribs. 

“I never meant to push you away like that, not really. I always panic, but-”

“Merlin,” Arthur interrupts, running his thumb softly over Merlin’s ribs. “I know.”

Merlin gives him a stern look and he stops talking, pressing his lips together and reminding himself that it’s not really his turn to talk. It’s kind of hard to think straight, though, because his entire head is buzzing with want, but the earnest look on Merlin’s face makes him pull himself together and focus. For a moment there’s just the sound of their breathing and the steady stream of hot water as they look at each other searchingly. 

“I love you,” Merlin says, his voice barely audible. “So much that it scares me.”

Arthur closes his eyes, completely unable to stop the smile that spreads on his face. His heart swells and he feels like he could take on the entire world. 

“God, I love you so much, Merlin,” he says and it comes out as a rush of words. “You have no idea.”

He rests his forehead against Merlin’s, feeling puffs of breath ghost across his own lips when Merlin speaks. “I think I have a pretty good idea, actually.”

It feels like his chest is about to burst when he crashes his lips down on Merlin’s soft mouth in a desperate kiss, both of them moving against each other again. The kiss dissolves into an open mouthed touch where they just breathe into each other, pressed together under the rush of water, clinging to each other against the dizzying feeling of being overwhelmed by something that’s hard to place. As Arthur comes, cursing against Merlin’s tongue, his thoughts are a jumbled mess of memories and the feeling of Merlin right now in the moment that counts the most of all. He smiles against Merlin’s lips as Merlin shudders under him.

***

Merlin is humming softly to himself as he makes a mess out of Arthur’s kitchen. It’s difficult, however, to complain about the mess since Merlin is baking chocolate biscuits, and besides, Arthur is very used to Merlin making a mess out of his entire place by now. He complains about it loudly and with vigour, but he doesn’t actually mind at all. Merlin makes the place seem lived in with his t-shirts slung over the back of a chair and the toothpaste he always forgets to rinse out of the bathroom sink.

Arthur slouches on the sofa, sending his boyfriend fleeting glances as he bustles around the kitchen with an enthusiasm that Arthur kind of envies. It’s a Sunday morning after a night at the pubs, for Christ’s sake, and Arthur only has enough energy to make it from the bed to the sofa, spreading out with his limbs in either direction, too tired to care that the angle is awkward. He’s been alternating between watching the telly and watching Merlin, secretly enjoying the sound of the out of tune humming so much that he’s lowered the volume on the telly until it’s barely audible at all. 

He closes his eyes and despite the slight pounding in his head that is no doubt a result of the tequila shots Morgana tricked him into drinking, he feels sleepy and warm in a good way. Lazy Sundays have always been a favourite of his, ever since he was little and he’d lounge around in pyjamas watching telly with Morgana. He smiles slightly at the thought of his dinosaur pyjamas and how Morgana had kicked up a fuss until she got the ones with cars instead of ponies. 

“Move over, you great lump,” Merlin says, pushing at Arthur’s chest. 

Arthur just groans and refuses to budge, making Merlin roll his eyes before he gives in and curls up in the perfect Merlin-sized spot under the arm Arthur has splayed over the back of the sofa. It’s odd how that works. A lot of things in his life seem to automatically revolve around Merlin to the point where even the simplest daily routine seems weird without him. He’s almost forgotten what it’s like to do the dishes alone after dinner and not have it turn into a water fight that leave them both breathless with laughter before Merlin suddenly has him pinned against the counter. Sometimes when he thinks about showers, dinners, Tuesdays or mornings without Merlin involved in them, he’s gripped with a sudden fear that everything will slip through his fingers and out of reach. 

As Merlin nuzzles slightly into the nook of his arm, Arthur turns his head and places a brief kiss to the black mop of hair. His mind is too fuzzy to pay attention to what’s happening on telly, but it doesn’t matter. When Merlin laughs, his body shaking against Arthur, Arthur laughs too and it doesn’t matter that he doesn’t know why. 

“You’re warm,” Merlin mutters into his chest, splaying his fingers softly over Arthur’s stomach. 

Arthur hums and there’s scent of homemade biscuits making him inhale deeply – twice, just for good measure. He’s gotten used to these biscuits, which is another facet of Merlin, really, and he doesn’t take the easy familiarity for granted. They’d been unsure of each other at first; stepping around each other on their toes as if any loud noise would make the other snap out of it and run out the door screaming. The first time Merlin had jokingly said ‘I hate you,’ Arthur’s heart had frozen in his chest as he remembered another time Merlin had said it and meant it. It hadn’t been a pleasant fight, but it taught them both something valuable. It taught them that some words may carry too much history between them, but it also showed them that there was an unspoken ‘I love you’ written in the smallest and silliest of places. 

Sometimes Arthur thinks he’s the only one who’s tuned into the language where a fond roll of the eyes, a push to the shoulder, a wrestling match on the hallway floor and the soft slide of a foot as they’re sitting on opposite ends of the sofa all mean ‘I love you’. Then he will look up and see the corner of Merlin’s eyes crinkling as he smiles and he knows he’s not the only one.

When Merlin pulls away from him, Arthur tightens the grip on his shoulders slightly in a silent plea.

“You don’t want burnt biscuits, do you?” Merlin asks, fumbling his way out of Arthur’s embrace. 

Arthur glares. “You’re choosing biscuits over cuddles?”

“Yes,” Merlin says, padding into the kitchen. “And so do you, usually, you’re just being a lazy arse today. You do know you’ll have to get out of your pyjamas before we head to dinner, right?”

“Hrnghno,” Arthur mutters, scratching his stomach lazily. “Gwen’s seen me in my pyjamas before, she won’t mind.”

Muffled sounds come from the kitchen and he can make out the hushed hisses of ‘hot, hot, hot’ that Merlin always makes even though he wears ridiculously large oven mitts. 

“I’m not dragging my boyfriend across London in his pyjamas.”

“You’re no fun.”

“That’s the exact opposite of what you said last night,” Merlin says and Arthur can _hear_ the cheeky grin. 

Something suddenly sticks into his side as he shifts slightly and he pulls out Merlin’s dog-eared P.G. Wodehouse book. 

“That’s because you were drunk. You’re a lot more interesting when you’re drunk.”

Merlin comes out of the kitchen with the comically huge oven mitts on his hands, rolling his eyes in response. “Let’s have you, lazy daisy,” he says in that really cheerful tone that makes Arthur want to be cranky on principle. Arthur pouts. 

Breaking into a laugh, Merlin frames Arthur’s face with his giant, chequered oven mitts and kisses the pout from his lips with a fondness that makes Arthur’s eyes flutter closed. When Arthur smiles into the touch unable to help himself, Merlin responds in kind until their grins make it impossible to keep kissing. 

“No biscuits for you until you get dressed.”

Huffing, Arthur lets Merlin drag him from the couch. 

“ _Fine_.”

***

Sitting across from Gwen and Lancelot at dinner makes Arthur oddly introspective. The last dinner he had with Gwen, Lance and Merlin seems like a lifetime ago, but sitting at the table in the exact same surroundings with the exact same people, the uncomfortable feeling of being the odd one out is fresh in his mind. It doesn’t make him sad or even melancholy. Instead he just watches his friends, savouring the laughter and the easy smiles instead of envying it. It’s easy to remember how it felt being on the outside of it, but that only makes it all the warmer on the inside.

“We’ve been looking at houses,” Gwen says, tearing a piece from her roll. “I mean, I guess it seems like a big step, but we practically live together anyway, right?”

She looks oddly nervous, as if she expects them to tell her it’s a horrible idea. 

“Are you finally making an honest man out of Lance?” Merlin asks, smirking into his drink. 

Gwen’s shoulders shake with silent laughter. “If you’re asking if I’ve proposed, then no.”

“You should get married on a bus,” Arthur suggests. 

This makes Merlin light up and he bounces a little in his seat. “Oh! We’ll hire a double-decker and drive around London!”

“And the exchange of vows should happen in the exact spot where you were playing hero, Lance.”

Merlin nods vigorously. “Lance could wear armour. Might as well look the part, right?”

“You guys are hideous together,” Lance says flatly and Gwen laughs, elbowing him in the side. “I wish we never re-introduced you.”

Arthur rolls his eyes and smiles briefly at Merlin, sipping from his glass of wine. 

Waving his fork at Lance, Merlin shakes his head. “You don’t fool me, Lance. You’re a huge softie and you’ve never been happier for me.”

This makes Lance flush slightly and he mutters something unintelligible as he picks at his food. Avoiding eye contact, he coughs awkwardly to Merlin’s apparent delight. 

“I guess you guys would get married on a football pitch, then?” Gwen says, saving her boyfriend from the mortification of admitting he’s a big softie. “If we’re going with first-meeting themed weddings.”

“Yeah, and Merlin would wear his hideous yellow shorts and that stupid t-shirt with the dragon on it.”

“Shut up!” Merlin exclaims, his face wrinkling up into that ridiculous squinty-eyed silent laughter he does. “How do you even remember that?”

Arthur shrugs. “The shorts were hideous, but they made your legs look nice.” 

“The referee should marry us,” Merlin says, ignoring the comment about his legs, but Arthur can see a slight flush creep up his neck. “And everyone would play footie, but you and I would always have to be on the losing team.”

“Did everyone miss the part where we’re not getting married?” Lance asks no one in particular. 

Gwen seems to take pity on her boyfriend and starts talking about the terrors of moving, making Merlin jump in with his never-wavering hatred of cardboard boxes. His thoughts drifting slightly from the conversation, Arthur notices Lance’s fond smile as Gwen waves her hands with too much enthusiasm. For the first time he wonders what would have happened if Lance hadn’t been there at the right time. Maybe life is just a lot of coincidences coming together, when it all comes down to it. If Lance hadn’t been there to save Gwen, Gwen might not even be here and Arthur may not have met Merlin again. 

“Morgana will wring your neck if she has to help us move,” Gwen warns. “She hates heavy lifting.”

“She hates light lifting too, let’s be honest,” Arthur adds. 

Lance attempts to glare at her, but he fails. Glaring doesn’t seem possible on Lance’s face somehow. It just comes out like fond exasperation at worst. “So what you’re saying is that Merlin and I are doing all the moving.”

“Pretty much.”

Arthur looks over at Merlin, studying the curve of his nose and the way his cheekbones create a sharp, eye-catching profile, and then it all softens with the gentle swell of his lips. He thinks about the first time he kissed those lips, breath heavy and the mesh of their tongues sloppy, desperate and inexperienced. It makes him realise that even though their relationship feels brand new in many ways, it’s also years old. For the first time, he thinks of the years they were separated as a part of their narrative. Even when they weren’t together, it was always there. Even when Arthur hadn’t even seen Merlin for years, he’d always been there somehow. It’s comforting, in a way, to realise this. It feels a bit like he never lost Merlin at all. 

Long, gentle fingers rest softly on Arthur’s thigh and he looks to Merlin who’s eyeing him with pursed lips. In the background, Gwen and Lance bicker about wallpapers.

“You okay?” Merlin mutters gently. “I know the last time we were here together having dinner, I...well, I was a bit of a jerk, wasn’t I?”

“A bit,” Arthur says, but he gives a crooked smile. “But I think you’ve made up for that. So stop whatever thinking you’re doing right now.”

“Maybe _you_ should stop the thinking you’re doing.”

“Yeah, fine. I’ll stop thinking about how much I love you, then, if that’s what you want.”

“Clotpole,” Merlin says in such a fond voice that Arthur reaches up and runs a finger over the shell of Merlin’s ear, smiling at the answering shiver.

***

“Will you just tell me where we’re going?” Merlin says as he’s sulking in the passenger seat of the car Arthur borrowed from Morgana through a lot of coaxing. “This is technically kidnapping, you know. I’m calling Lance and he’ll save me with his ninja saving skills.”

Arthur laughs and turns his attention away from the road as long as he dares. His boyfriend is curled up facing the window, staring out at the abandoned hills with a sullen expression. It’s a bit hilarious how much Merlin is pouting about being taken on a surprise trip, but Merlin has always hated not knowing things. 

“Look,” Arthur says, chewing on his lip as a wave of nervousness makes his pulse quicken. “I was afraid you wouldn’t come with me. To be honest, I’ve been waiting to tell you until it would just be easier to go there instead of turning back.”

Turning his head, Merlin stares at Arthur with a panic-stricken look and Arthur realises he might have made it sound a tad worse than it really is. 

“I’m not going to slaughter you or anything,” he says quickly, feeling his cheeks blush. 

“You’re such a daft git,” Merlin says, his expression still worried. “Just bloody tell me already.”

Pressing the volume button on the stereo until _I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles)_ is almost loud enough to drown out his voice, his fingers tighten around the steering wheel and he swallows. “Home.”

There’s a flurry of limbs in the passenger seat as Merlin whips around to face Arthur, his eyes wide. Arthur swallows against the nervous lump in his throat, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel slightly to distract himself. 

“ _Home_ home?” 

Arthur shrugs awkwardly. “My father is home from Brussels for the weekend. And I thought we could drive over to Ealdor and visit your mother.” He shifts slightly in his seat. “But only if you want to. If you don’t want to we can skip both of them and just hang around.”

“I want to,” Merlin says softly and Arthur can feel his eyes on him. 

Having decided to take a different route than he usually would, the scenery has been largely unfamiliar until they make a turn onto familiar roads and they both fall quiet, looking out at the blurring landscape. The more things Arthur recognises, the more uneasy he feels about what they’re doing. He glances at Merlin out of the corner of his eyes to remind himself why he decided on this in the first place. Merlin is such an inextricable part of his life and he always has been, even when he wasn’t in it. Even when it had been years since they last saw each other, he’d see something stupid in a shop and think ‘Merlin would get a kick out of that’ or he’d imagine what it would be like to tell Merlin about his promotion. Now that Merlin is actually back in his life, he’s realised he wants Merlin to be a part of everything, even the difficult things. 

“He’s not as bad as I make him seem,” Arthur says as he glances at Merlin’s tense form. “He just doesn’t know how to relate to me, but he’s not a horrible tyrant.”

“So he won’t set the dogs on me?” 

“My father is more of a fish person.”

“Drowning me in a tank of sharks, then,” Merlin says, the corners of his eyes crinkling with mirth. 

Throwing his head back, Arthur laughs and reaches out to give Merlin a push to the shoulder. Merlin laughs back and when it fades, the mood feels heavy with something Arthur can’t quite put his finger on. 

Arthur swallows heavily, looking out across the vivid colours blurring past. “I wouldn’t let him hurt you.”

“Trying to outdo Lance again?” Merlin shakes his head in mock disapproval. “Your jealousy is getting out of hand.”

“Git,” Arthur mutters. “I mean it.”

“I know you mean it, but you don’t have to protect me from the world. You always did that.”

“I did not.”

Merlin sets his eyes on him. “You used to follow me around so those guys from the other footie team wouldn’t beat me up, remember?”

“Yes. Well.” Arthur gives a one shouldered shrug. “I don’t like it when people hurt you.”

“That’s profoundly ironic.”

Arthur swallows, wishing suddenly that his boyfriend would stop looking at him. He feels a flush creeping up his neck and he rubs it absently. 

“Yeah, I know,” he finally says. “That’s why I hated myself more than I’ve ever hated anyone.”

Out of the corner of his eyes he can see Merlin’s face falling slightly and there’s movement when Merlin pushes his knees up to his chest and wraps his arms around himself as well as the seatbelt will allow. 

“Please stop beating yourself up over it,” Merlin says just as they reach the small village that is only a fifteen minute drive from their home. 

“I’m trying.”

“Yeah, you better.” The song changes and it’s the one Merlin always keeps humming in the mornings. “It makes me kind of angry because I don’t like when people hurt you.”

They share a lingering smile and then the rest of the ride is only Merlin’s out of tune singing and the way Arthur complains about it just for show. The singing doesn’t even stop when the gates open and they drive up to the large house of the Pendragons, gravel popping under the tyres. The nerves that creep up on Arthur dissipate with the lilting tones filling the car. Merlin only stops belting when the engine turns off and they both stare up at the building where a lot of it began a very long time ago. 

“Are you ready for this?” Arthur asks as he takes the key out of the ignition. 

Merlin gives a wide smile. “I was born ready for this. Are you ready for this?”

“Yes,” is all he answers, and they look at each other for a moment before they both turn to get out of the car, stepping out next to the wide stone stairs leading up to the door. 

Glancing briefly down at his cell phone to check the time, Arthur smiles to himself when he sees the background picture. On his way to work one day several weeks ago, he’d found one of Merlin’s Camelot posters that someone had drawn a moustache on and Arthur could hardly pass up that opportunity, could he? After the endless mocking, he’d been forced into modelling for Merlin’s art class and the result of that horrifying experience is taped to Arthur’s fridge. 

“Hey,” Merlin says and he looks up to find Merlin standing at the top of the stairs. “I don’t have another decade, come on!”

“Be nice or I might not take you to the guest house later,” Arthur yells back with a grin, looking up at his childhood home with Merlin on the steps. The answering laughter is bright.

Stopping next to Merlin at the top of the steps, Arthur reaches out and knocks on the door three times in quick succession and wills his racing heart to calm down. He knows it will be fine, and even if it isn’t, he knows who he will choose if it comes down to it. Their fingers lace together and Arthur is immediately calmed by Merlin’s thumb ghosting across his skin. They’re here, finally. Merlin hums.


End file.
